When you walk through a sea of people,
It is the sky,
barely tinted by the faded clouds.
It is the tiredness in your voice
And her laughter
With confidence in her eyes.
You do not know her,
But she, however,
seems to know you.
Something about the observation leaves you
With pondering rain
Dripping from your footsteps.
A drop of ocean imprinted in her glance,
A slight touch of trust.
It is the color of her salutation,
Calm,
Quiet,
As if something told her
Of the heaven in your hair
And the icy impatience
In your soul.
It is her wisdom-tainted stare
Appraising you, yourself,
But the tranquility of it passing through you,
Her eyes look past
To take in the marginal reliability
Of your ignorance.
It was her adoration of you,
And it was half of her heart
When you left her for a swaying carnation,
It was the color of her drowned pillow
After the two years you knew her,
And you sang with her,
And you sent those hearts to her.
It was the color that engulfed
Her entire existence
With content depression,
With dependency and uncertainty.
That color was her
Until she let the juniper in her erase it,
Erase you,
But she'll never forget that hue...
She'll never forget you.
l.e.h.b.
l.e.r.
