fractals

to articulate what exactly it is about you is beyond me. for the first time, i am at a complete loss for words. i have thought through every conversation we’ve had, everything you’ve giggled into the darkness, and everything that makes my head reel with certainty and uninhibited giddiness. i have spent time thinking through the waves of security, a feeling i have never been offered before. my mother always told me orange looked bad on my skin but the way you painted me disagreed. i never looked better before you took a brush to me; all my scars vanished under the oil. my world was drained of color and you painted me happy, so i never asked why.

i will not hide any longer how i adore you. not just because the feeling bursts forth from me no matter how much i try to keep it contained, but because it would be unjust for you not to know exactly how much i adore every thread that weaves the fabric of your being. every single string matters to me and i cannot seem to find a variation that would serve as warning for a tear. normally and without fail, i am capable of finding this. i’d thrown my pigment at every drip of care elsewhere until it was cracking, peeling, parched. you have given me absolutely nothing wrong while having no idea the scrutiny you’re under. i am dumbfounded into assurance and i will hold onto the uniqueness of confidence for as long as i can. there is no risk to be felt. i am heard but, more importantly, i am heard by you. it is a feat in itself to find a person who will collect my fruit into their own basket, but it is even more astonishing that it is done by someone so flawless. someone who casually drills a craving for their thoughts into me rather than just being a vessel for plain solace. when orange showed its peeled back layers, my greyness escaped out of fear. it tasted so sweet, it was as addictive as any favored dessert. it was peeled without caring how many slices there were to share because they were all for me. “nothing has ever been as clear as this,” i thought, ”it is almost embarrassing i did not see it before. of course i am infatuated but the correctness of it all is simply undeniable.” i had to wonder why i never asked why.

why i let myself drain

cracking, peeling, parched

why i always painted on my own

cracking, peeling, parched

so i painted my own stains and oranges kept me full.

i never asked why there weren’t enough slices. why they rotted for me so quickly when i once thought we thrived symbiotically.

i began to starve as they rotted, rotted, rotted away

until all was left was my orange stains

smeared over healed scars

with more left to color in by far

i tried different shades and different hues but what was really missing was you. there was nothing left to do with the wound, what was done was finished. it was over and i realized my world was still brightened from the remnants. the soft glow left behind still made me incredibly happy; i could even say it still does. but the wounds turned red with irritation, infection, blood. not only the one you inflicted but it spread to all the others i had accumulated. all the ones i showed you and even the cuts i told you about. it made everything feel as if it had been correct. it ended accordingly. anything good for me had to sour. the strive for subversives was cut short quickly. every other stain at least had a warning but the season changed the next week.

it ended accordingly.

as i’ve continued on it still follows but i’ve noticed more. every strategy, every choice i’ve made flickers. i moved out and saw yellow everywhere. the day i drove back and forth to drop off my things, the sun beat yellow into me. quite frankly, into all of us. the sunset was fiery and the bathroom floor gave me my first taste of lemon: a mistake i was allowed to make. even the flowers right outside of my apartment are yellow. every time i’ve returned home to face what i once was forced to be i see red. i saw red in my face and as i shouted at my mother i noticed her hair was dyed a brighter tone. when i leave after every attempt of reason the red roof glares back at me. there’s no comfort to be had there. now, as i realize how blue i am, the colors trickle to each other and blend in astonishing new pigments. i had never seen them connect.

every choice i make flickers.

though it is all faded, i see rainbows in myself. they’re faint and they’re spotted, like fractals on the wall from a crystal capturing the sun. i do exactly what makes me happy. i don’t have much space for happiness by default, yet i persevere. not only does my hobby and strength make me happy, it makes me better. it makes me skilled and resilient because i make it beneficial. it makes me sharp— deadly, even. i make it matter for my future and i see orbs with the sounds.

i’m glittering. sparkling.

every phrase i write, every chord i build bleeds more into my world. what i never knew before now was how much detail seeing color adds. i can see my future so clearly and so certainly; the second thing i have ever been certain about.

the first was you, of course. but you are not in control. i am. i am painting all the wounds you reopened and i have the skill to do so. it is painful and it is tedious but nonetheless brave. though i still cannot see you clearly i know it is you who haunts my dreams and follows me throughout the day. if i sit too still i see orange and my wounds itch— cracking, peeling. though my mother still has not been right about anything, the fruits i grow for myself taste sweeter. they are various and abundant and i understand when to plant them as you had not. then again, you only claimed to be a botanist. it seems you took to claiming and promising as some temporary fun but i know my own decisions will follow through. i cannot leave myself behind ever again and you would not believe the discipline it has taken not to. all day i slave to water, to snip and sow, but how else would i eat?