A storm in plain daylight

My comforter is pink and so are my pillows.

Tapestry, wall hangings and drawers; all pink.

But there’s a bit of gray in those too.

Nothing is completely pink, and nothing’s completely gray.

It’s my personal yin-yang state.

I can’t completely lose you, it’s a penned-out fate that I cannot escape.

But, here’s a piece of solid transparent advice for you;

I was never colorless before you.

I know I didn’t have sparkles in my veins until you showed up but our love elapsed and now my halo and glow is faded.

It’s a little blue without you here, but that’s an antecedent for a beautiful sunset.

You left traces of you in everything we touched.

A love that left us high and colored us golden.

You were my morning light, my yellow tea, and abyss of gladness.

But you’re gone and so is every fragment of you and I'm starting to feel like gone is every last glimpse of hope.

...

...

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"Pink. Your color is pink." I hear a ringing in my head.

I keep forgetting that even after you there’s still me.

I’ll survive this gray storm. I know I’ll survive you. Because after the rain comes pouring down, flowers grow and the most beautiful ones will be found in me.

I can’t unsee you in everything I am, it’s my own personal hell that I created, but for the first time I can breathe and I don’t feel like pink was never enough to make me.