Colours

brown

Being with you was brown.

Brown like the old leather armchair of my grandpa, in which he always sat with me on his lap. My sparkling eyes watching him while he was telling me stories about his youth and how he met grandma. How they first met in a library and how they fell in love, about the ups and the downs they had to fight against. His eyes never leaving grandma, as if she was the most beautiful treasure he could've ever gotten.

Brown like the chocolate cake you got me for my birthday, since it was my favorite. Blowing out the candles on it, making a wish and your lips crashing onto mine as everyone started clapping. Feeling as if there was nothing that could ruin the moment, feeling you by my side, hearing the clapping surrounding us, almost as if we both never did anything else, as if I was always meant to find you.

Brown like the color of your hair, that I liked so much. Running my fingers through them for hours, as if they were the only grip I had on life; instantly making me feel safe and protected while listening to your heartbeat.

Being with you was brown.