She is a yellow girl. Her nails are yellow, her hair is yellow and the light she radiates is yellow. Her chin is yellow as if she held a daisy underneath it and her eyes shown as if she held the sun inside herself. And I am a blue boy. My hair is blue and my eyes are blue like the sky and my pupils dark like the ocean. My tears are blue like cotton candy turned liquid and I can see my voice in the air flying like blue sparrows when she makes me speak
I watch as she spackles her yellow butter on her golden toast and I am struck near dumb when she looks up at me. I couldn’t explain to you the hold she has over me. Every movement that her body whispers moves me this way and that. I feel like a puppet and she is my marionette. I didn’t mind now that all of her attention belonged to that knife.
She’s still glaring at her toast and when she realizes that I’ve been staring she jumps. She looks out the window, but only for the shortest second before looking up at me. She’s beautiful. I stand from my chair to bring myself closer, she was watching me now. She looks almost scared, I grin. I am an inch away before the knife gets in my way. It steals her attention away from me.
“Dom,” I say. Nothing.
She isn’t looking at me anymore; she’s watching the window. I grace my eyes over the glass and I can see an unfocused bird fly over the beach. Then she’s busying herself with making another piece of toast. She’s always making toast. I touch her shoulder.
“Dom,” I mutter. What is wrong?
I’m not moving. She’s staring at me with her eyes incredulous and watery. It breaks my heart so bad to see those yellow eyes melt.
She moves and the way she does compels me to move as well. I find myself sitting in my chair, watching as she cries. Her body shakes like a flower in the breeze and her eyes are like stalactites.
“Why are you here?” she sobs.
Her lips brush against mine. My world explodes into a brighter sepia, every things seems old fashioned. They way my heart speeds up when I taste her tongue it’s familiar and the feel of her elbow in my hand is common. Her heart beat is welcome against mine because we are in sync. We can read each other’s minds, and it’s weird because of our differences.
With her lips on my neck it should be hard for me to get distracted, but it isn’t. I see my reflection in the window that Dom likes to stare out of. I like to stare inside it. She likes to focus on the outside; I like to focus on the window pane itself and wonder whether the glass knew it was glass. I always wanted to know if the glass could feel the rain drops, wonder if the glass could feel the sun paint rainbows across its surface.
I am a blue boy. My hair is blue and my eyes are blue like the sky and my pupils dark like the ocean. My tears are blue like cotton candy turned liquid and I can see my voice in the air flying like blue sparrows when she makes me speak. And she is a yellow girl. Her nails are yellow, her hair is yellow and the light she radiates is yellow. Her chin is yellow as if she held a daisy underneath it and her eyes shown as if she held the sun inside herself.
“I love you,” I breathed leaning against her. She is mine and she makes me warm. I am hers and I cool her down.
When I see her, she’s standing at the door, her toast in her hands taking a bite. She hands it to me as I make my way to the door. That one bite, that one perfect flaw in the toast makes me feel like framing it, but I take my own bite erasing the evidence of hers. I walk through the door that separates the out from the in; the spacious from the cramped; the warm from the cool; the wild from the uncomfortable.
She makes me love her.
NOW READ IT BACKWARDS! Seriously read it backwards. (by paragraph)
Inspired by “Draw O, Coward” and “He is, eh?”
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