The cotton scarf caressed the
sides of my neck, protecting me
from the unwanted affection of the wind.
The heels of my shoes made little
tap tap tap noises down the street,
guided by the tunes of the birds.
As I reached the copper house of
childhood memories, I noticed
a letter that had snuck itself in
through the locked gate's corners.
Unlocking the gate, I swiftly grasped
the letter in between my fingertips,
examining the thickness of the envelope
and the engravings of a rose.
"Hm, not even a name on the letter. Strange,"
I shrugged as I felt for the keys in my purse.
The house greeted me with a warm hug,
as the layers of my clothes hung themselves
in the closet.
The letter, with all of its syllables and emotions,
found itself on the marble countertop as I
stared into the refrigerator.
A bowl of raspberries and I was ready to
sketch the painting.
And from there, Charlie came into view
on the white canvas. His piercing eyes,
his tousled hair, and the way his face
had a structure like none other.
With the power of technology, I scanned
the photo and exported it onto my digital
painting studio on my laptop, changing the
background color to a variety of blues
until I was positive of the perfect shade.
"Something is missing.. This isn't
enough.." I muttered in annoyance
as I couldn't figure out what exactly
was going to complete the drawing.
Peering above my laptop to grab another
raspberry, my eyes caught the edge of
the letter.
Careful to not rip the delicate engravings,
I opened the letter and started to breathe in
the emotions that were scribbled onto the
flattened tree.
My heart began to ache, as my body
was not a strong enough shell for it to hold.
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]
