White. It was the only color before him. Back when the whole world seems so beautifully bleak. Like a dove. Simple. Innocent. Boring.
Blue. He was a star when we first met. Almost everyone liked him. Except me. He was different to me. He mocked me, criticized me. He saved me—changed me, without even knowing it. It was the color that I first saw when he brought me back to life. A dark shade of blue. Like the ocean; cold against bare skin but revitalizing more than anything else.
Yellow. This was the color of the nights spent talking to him. The little talks which transformed into life stories. The gap between us that got smaller and smaller through time. It was yellow. A cheese flavored ice cream yellow. Sweet and salty. Like my tears that suddenly stopped pouring since he arrived. He was the sunrise. The new beginning. The hope.
Red. It was red the day he succumbed to his demons. Fiery red. I talked to him, tried to make him see sense. It was the first time he let me heal his wounds. Red. It was the color that conquered everything else. And it was the color of his lips when he uttered the words; “You are important to me.”
Violet. The day he told me he loves me…
As a friend.
Gray. We were separated. He met new friends and I was trapped in our universe. Still, I faithfully waited for him. It was gray. The hours of being drunk with loneliness. The color of hopelessness—of dread.
Black. I swam in a pool of black as I gave up on him. It was deep, deep black that I saw each time I open my eyes and remember that he is gone. That he already left. Without any hesitation. Or goodbye.
* * *
A year had passed. The colors that I once treasured were long gone. Together with the boy who saved me. Now, he is merely a blur of colors. A what if. A dream. A fallacy.