YELLOW WINTER

live

3
I've always imagined being someone's girlfriend.
How'd it feel? Like butterflies? Like I don't need cigarettes to feel sane? Or coffee to keep my eyes open...I'll live on love, exist for something that isn't just survival instinct but love.. I'll live for someone.
I wouldn't think of how irrelevant my existence is...of how my coming to earth disrupted a straight A student from climbing the career ladders she drew when she was 9 and still keeps in her drawer ...to exist for someone might just heal me. Maybe.
When I think of it I feel like I'm riding an empty train through a beautiful Field with sunlight that warms my skin and even if it rains, the water won't feel as piercing as her words, it'll feel soft.
These thoughts don't last through. I look in the mirror and see her laughing hysterically at me. "No one can love you."
"Men don't love poor things like u"
Like us??!! Like us??! I would often feel like shouting back but then my mind eats deep into old words that keep leaving new wounds, opening old words and then something says "men? Then I'll have to find me a girl, a woman that loves me "

But where'd I find a girl I'm not jealous of? A girl I don't envy...a girl who's eyes feel like an ocean of all the things we could be and not all the things I can't be...that I'll never be...
How'd I find a girl who's dresses make my heart do little flips and now feel like it's being dragged through muddy waters..
A girl who'd think my cigarette cracked lips make me look perfect in her delusion...
I don't need her to love...I don't need anyone to care cause then I might start believing I deserve to be happy... I just need to find me a girl, a man to feed my "maybe alternate fantasies "

There was this girl before cheesy books guy. She was a girl. A real girl. A girl with a dad who dropped her off.
Pretty shoes and clothes that didn't fit the trend and she didn't seem to care she wore her bink, blue, yellow, green, Burberry, red, pink dresses with matching hats and cute little shoes my camera lens couldn't get enough of.
Her makeup always matched her dresses.
She had pink week, yellow week, green week ... She seemed to have it synced with the weather.
My eyes would always catch her walking under the most warm clouds in yellow dresses. On rainy days she made the trees and grass look so much alive. Her green made the little water dripping down trees after raining a more bearable.
I like to think she wore blue and red for me.
On days where my skin would glow underneath my long sleeves and pants in varying colours of red and blue those colours on her made them hurt a little less.
Pink wasn't for me.
It was for all the boys who would only she realize how doll like she looked.
The girls would kiss their faces with a little more than teenage insecurities and add a little frequent shade of envy, annoyance and hate for someone unafraid to be herself in all the colors of the rainbow.

These days I see her from time to time, with her new boyfriend. They look like mismatched shoes. Her perfect little umbrellas matching her outfits looks unfit whenever he's holding it over her head, walking her from his dainty looking green/once green pickup truck.
I hate the way he makes her look like they're Barbie and Ken. They'll perfect, I'm not.

Her pictures makes the thought of her bearable. With all her colours I've never felt the need to photograph her in colours...her smile is a shade no colour could reflect.

Only he... only he has made my fingers itch with the thought of him in yellow ...oh heavens! I'll take a thousand of those in colour!
Life likes to play this little "see what I did there" jokes with me.
Give me someone with some much colour yet make my crazy mind content with black and white photos then when my mind's rewinded give me another who never wears colour but loves colour then make me crazy to catch him in yellow...

Today I don't wear eye bags. My lips are cracked as usual and my hair playfully matted in a way that makes me look plain and mad. My face without glasses make me see it...the thing she sees that makes her send things flying towards my face, especially her Metallic cane. A part I don't recognize. A part that isn't her.
Perfectly lined brows...the only things that makes sense on my heart shaped face...that nose ...it doesn't fit... neither are those eyes...they belong to someone I don't know.
Someone she doesn't know.
Someone that changed the course of her once perfect life. The other half that made this imperfect person walking head down towards a place she's learnt nothing but how much her existence isn't necessary...me.
I wish that night had never come for both of us.
I wouldn't be here, She'll be happy. Even though the thought of her being happy makes me angry, the thought of not existing at all makes it a little ok.

Another days to watch him sit through breaks, his head buried in those cheesy books.
His attractive friends making people come around him.
His eyes everywhere but on me...