Colours

 Someone once said you personified the colour black.

They had never been more wrong.

You were red, like the first flames of fire. 

Burning with passion, with hope, with fury.

The copper taste of blood that was left on my mouth every time we kissed.

The faint smell of roses on every inch of my skin.

You were orange, like soft dawns.

First burst of spring, sour and sweet.

The butterflies in my stomach when you met my eyes.

The fallen leaves crunching under our feet.

You were yellow, like late afternoon sunshine.

Tart taste of fresh juice, refreshing as summer.

The way everyone's eyes gravitated to you like sunflowers.

The buzzing in my ears when you spoke, blocking out the rest of the world.

You were green, like freshly cut grass.

Soft flutters of leaves in the wind, beckoning to peace.

The way I felt when someone else had a grasp on your attention.

The changing of your colours to blend in everywhere.

You were blue, like strong waves at the beach.

Purposeful, but magnificent, spreading your wings.

The way my head swam when you were around.

The dampening of my mood in your absence.

You were indigo, like the midnight sky.

A product of toil and trouble, oppression and suffering.

The way you turned even my most foul moods around in seconds.

The thunder when someone dared to stand in our way.

You were purple, the colour of royals.

Soft in lavender bushes, rich in twilight skies.

The way you made me glow brighter than violet neon signs.

The sparkle in your eyes reserved only for me.

You were every colour of the rainbow and then some.

Black? Perhaps you were black too.

Like the inky blanket sequined with stars.

Like the charcoal left in the smoking hearth.

Like the shadows that you brightened with mere smiles.

But the colour spectrum was not enough to encapsulate the vibrance in your smile, the bounce in your step, the tinkle in your voice, the breath in your laughter.

Because colours are only as colourful as we see them, and you were beyond comprehension.