Lime green. The frying pan in my hand is lime green. Tears brimmed my eyes as my body shook ever so slightly. I looked at him in disbelief, "Why...did you get it in this color?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
He seemed oblivious about why I looked as if I was offended by something as silly as this shade of green. "Well, it was the only one they had. I'm sorry." I let out a sigh, closing my eyes. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I laughed dryly.
"I can't use this pan. This was her favorite color."
With realization in his eyes, he responded, "I didn't know that. Your mom didn't say anything when we were buying it."
Not having anything else to say, I left the room. To outsiders, this might seem dramatic, except it's anything but that. I don't want to be reminded of her every time I have to cook. Oh, how the color makes me sick.
YOU ARE READING
Short Poems
PoesiaJust a collection of my writings. I don't publish super often. If anyone actually reads these then enjoy :) EDIT: I haven't been on wattpad in a while so here's a **trigger warning**
