But it is also the color of anger, and of hate. The hate that I feel when you leave without a word. The anger that bubbles inside when I´m clearing away another uneaten dinner alone. But even these can´t dull the love that binds me here.
So it´s one more day of no apologies, one more night of bitter fears, and a lifetime of passion that burns me alive.
You hum in contentment, drawing me close with a hand buried in wild curls to press a kiss along my jaw. I love you, Jim, and I so want to say the words, but the sun is gone completely now, and with it the words chill in my throat.
To me, its not cowardice or jaundice; it´s the ripe, sweet sight of maize grown high in the filed, ground for the village meal. I make the soufflé you like so well, corn dripping sweet and buttery through the thin crust, and laugh at your exaggerated moans of pleasure as you proclaim the bliss of hardening arteries.
I warm from the inside out when you smile at me just so, ruffling my hair as your arm slips around my shoulders in a casual hug of thanks. It would be so easy now, but I am ever the coward.
It consumes me, sending me darting from the loft with bile teasing my tongue. Your time should be mine, those smiles and tender touches reserved for me.
But they´re not, and I think I have only myself to blame. Maybe it´s time to follow those greener pastures and leave for good. It only takes a word to stop me.
I´m not going anywhere, and I wonder that my hasty excuse even buys me the leeway to dart out for the evening. I´m drowning in colors, and I´m too afraid to call for help.
The cobalt sky twinkles with starlight, and you eyes fill my gaze. I kiss you softly, our lips meeting for the first time, but not the last. I feel the flutter of your lashes against my cheek, tiny fans, as I press close in the night.
One small touch, one more lingering look, and you broke me.
I´ve never felt more free.
## End ##
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