He was her sunset.
He called her "sweetie" and "babygirl".
Her pillow smelled of his cologne and the cigarettes that hung from his lips, and she wondered if she could get second hand smoke from inhaling that pillow so often.
She never called him beautiful. He was so much more. He was pink california sunsets and the red flowers that enchanted laguna beach and rainy mornings and warmth.
After he left, like all the pretty sunset boys do, and after the scent of her pillow faded and the red flowers near her bedside died and the summer months rolled over the rainy days, she still had her pink california sunsets to watch as she waited for sunrise
YOU ARE READING
C O L O R S
Short Story"You're always so angry. You don't just bleed red, Cameron, you are red." eleven teenagers | eleven encounters | eleven colors :: an attempt at the 50 word challenge // all based on real life happenings ::
