She Was Colour

In a monochrome world, she was colour. 

Everywhere she went, everyone she encountered was brushed with the rainbow that was her. Little by little she painted the world with reds, yellows, blues and everything in between whilst I trailed behind her. I watched as she created her masterpiece as naturally as one would breathe, eagerly waiting for her to stain me once more.

I could never seem to get enough. She was an artist, and I would do anything to be her canvas. I wanted - no - needed to bathe in it, to coat myself in the full spectrum of her. Every hue, every shade and every undertone absorbed into my skin so that she was a part of me, always, fumes and all. 

I am paper - blank and uninspired. I soften under her touch, and grow cold and rigid in her absence. She is my lifeforce. With her I am beautiful. With her I am alive.