My hands graze the coloured pencils, my eyes assessing the shades for perfection, somegthing to translate my feelings…
I pause, and seize a fiery red, then vibrant oranges and yellows. I smooth the stark white sheet on the desk before me and set to work.
No, I’m not an artist – or at least, one in the drawing sense.
My hands work slowly and deliberately, making curves, like the ones of his face…
L…
My fingers clutch the orange now, reminding me of the orange sky that lit our first moments together, of warmth, laughter, sand, and risks. A tune finds my lips, his song, that he sung to me.
E…
More curves appear on the paper, looping, like his arm, around her back, and the red of the burn on my heart of betrayal…
V…
And yellow for candlelight at the cafe, where confessions were made and promises broken. Where love was revealed, one that was forbidden life. Where instead of heartbreak, I was given false hope.
I. Done. And with that, I slipped it into the fire, to burn.