A love letter to P.
Some part of you I loved before I found you. When you were only a word, a whisper in the wind, a rumour mill. In my smallness I didn't think myself worthy of you, but I was only a dreamy little girl and you were a word in a green book. A red word, an allure, I wanted you without knowing what it was to want.
When I found you first, you were as red as they had said. You had blood on your walls, you had a delicate throat shouting itself hoarse. But in the back, under the trees, there was a rusted staircase and it was a colour I could not name. I loved you even more, made myself red for you, wanted to blend into your walls and become the story written in yours.
I still loved you when your red faded, they painted you an indifferent white. You became indifferent to me then, my dream floated up from the the center of you. Your history hidden, you became sad, a widow. My world turned grey and I loved you still if only in name.
I loved you when I left you the first time, you were blue, I was too, it was the colour of farewell. It was bittersweet, poetic, music, you smiled and said don't come back. It rained that day and only on that day and we were forgiven, forgiven of our bad poetry and dirty hands, and I didn't see how you had become me more than myself. I asked you who I was and you said your name. You said goodbye, don't come back, and I wept with happiness.
When I came back next month you laughed yourself yellow and said welcome. I wore yellow for you, I had flowers in my hair, I made myself comfortable, curled up and waited for the yellow to fade, waited for the final farewell, and I tried to dream it away into some far future that I could push further and further back in time just by wishing it. They say that lovers hold time in between their fingers, create what they want of time out of air.
The time is now. I have called you my love in secret. I will make up a goodbye since I can't bring myself to say one yet.
Fare thee well, love.
