pink and yellow
what if i told you i dream in colour,
in these beautiful pinks and yellows like
the sunset out of our window that morning,
you know the one. where we stayed in bed
and the heating was on. you held me
while we watched the sky, curtains open
like we didn’t care who was watching. like
nothing else had ever existed in such vibrancy
what if i told you i miss that night,
i miss us. the orange glow while you read me
stories about the sun and the moon, about what was
outside the window: above and below.
i remember once you told me about
the little pixies who lived in between
the brickwork and infused our little flat
with magic. pure, unadulterated and innocent.
what if i told you i still loved you,
and all the things you said and did.
i think i learned a lot from you about myself
and i don’t want to have to cut it out as if it were
a piece of my body gone rotten, gone rogue.
you’re gone for good; bitter, a cold touch in november.
but i still want to cherish you. forever, i think.
what if i told you it’s you that i’m dreaming of,
in all these colours; a landscape of memories
what we could be and what we never were.
a glorified picture: maybe i’m a painter.
maybe i’m exaggerating.
maybe i was just in love and
maybe i’m not anymore.
About the Author
Elizabeth Sallow (she/her) is a queer nineteen year old who lives in a small village in the UK. She believes in the universal and connective power of literature and hopes that she can make people feel understood in a way that she did growing up with her head in a book. She also likes succulents. It's a problem. You can find her on Instagram @elizabeth.sallow.