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.