Write a short story based on the picture.
She said that sunsets were beautiful. So were sunrises. She always told me that. She would tell me all about the different colors the sky illustrated. Red, indigo, blue, gold, orange, purple, pink, she named a lot. I've never really seen a sunset or a sunrise to be honest, not like you haven't anyways.
I would always ask her what her favorite color was. She said she never really had one. We'd always be sitting on my back porch watching a sunset. I knew she'd always hesitate to ask me what was mine, because she already knew the answer.
I can't see colors.
She told me that she had never seen anything more beautifully lit with colors. As we'd sit on my back porch, she'd tell me about them. The sky is "blue". Grass is "green". The sun is "yellow". Her hair is "red". Her eyes are "brown".
She also said my eyes are "grey". To be exact, a very pale, almost colorless grey. What I like about my eyes is that I know that's their real color, because I can see them when I look at myself in the mirror. I know grey is a mix between black and white, and I can see both of those pigments, even the colors the two of them make when mixed together. Like for example, grey. Let me just say that my life is not a box of chocolates. It's more like an old 40's movie.
What I've never been able to tell her is that how wrong she is about sunsets being beautiful. I mean, I suppose they are, but again, I've never technically seen a fully-colored one. But in all truth, there's something prettier than a sunset or a sunrise. And in all truth, I do have a favorite color, although I cannot see it. I guess I'm just too awkward to tell her.
My favorite color is "lilac". It's true, I've never seen it, but I've seen the flowers. Lilac is like a light "purple". My parents say my little sister's room walls are a lilac color. But my reason for liking the color is completely different.
Her name is Lilac, and she could beat a setting sun any day. She's more beautiful than a sunrise and lilacs too. Her smile could outshine the sun and her hair could make an apple shrivel. But she doesn't see it. I do.
So maybe tomorrow while we're watching another sunset from my back porch, I'll tell her my favorite color.
YOU ARE READING
Evergreen Summertime
PoetryMy hopeless love for him is evergreen. It grows even more in the summertime. Poems and short stories. So just stick around for a while, you may find a place here too.