Charlie's fingers traced
the edges of my family's
album.
"This-Th-This is your parents?"
"Yeah, my adopted parents.
But to me, they're my
biological ones except they
lost the melanin. I mean, it's
only just pigmentation that separates
us." I peered over the couch
and placed the soup down on
the coffee table. I walked up to
him and pointed to my dad.
"He's really funny, and I
get my music taste from him.
He plays classical music throughout
the house when I was little.
He told me if I listened to it,
my brain cells would get
stronger," I chuckled.
"A-And y-your mo-m?"
"She never wanted me
to feel like I'm secluded
and different from the family.
She treated me like her own,
and raised me with the mindset
that true love stems from nurturing
a child, not simply giving birth to one."
"T-Tha-that's beautiful." Charlie
gave a small smile.
"Yeah, it is. And that's
my little family, in this
copper looking house, full of
color."
YOU ARE READING
shades of red
Poetrywhen you have too many thorns, all you can do is paint them in red, because, maybe then, they will look like petals [sequel to shades of blue]
