All the Colours of You

Ocean Blue

It's a cold morning. The crisp air coats my skin, making goosebumps dance along my arms. I shrug on a coat, and pad out of my room, my feet silent in the tiles. I make my way to the kettle, the familiar sound reassuring. I rummage in the draw for the chamomile, but there is none. I settle for green tea and carry my mug outside to greet the new morning.

It is definitely a blue day. The sky is the same hue of the roses my grandmother used to grow, a delicate periwrinkle like your favourite scarf. The same material that hangs over your chair next to me. I stare at the little piece of silk, the memories starting to surface. I stand up suddenly, hot tea splashing over me. I grab a towel and wipe up the mess but I am secretly glad for the distraction. I do not need you in my head today.

I like riding trains. The gentle rocking is a like safety net. It gives my subconscious something to focus on. Leaving my mind free to watch the people around me.

It's surprising how easy it is to read people. That man with the over-ironed suit and too-tight pants? His boss asked him to a one on one meeting this morning and he can't make up his mind if he's getting promoted or fired. That women who's talking to loudly to her friend? See how she grips her arm so tightly- she's lost someone recently, perhaps a secret lover. She's trying not to show it, and many people don't notice. They don't care. But I see. I see it all.

I'm just trying to figure out the secret of the twenty something male opposite me when the doors open and the new passengers sweep inside. My body freezes. A bright flash of peach hair. The girl makes her way inside the vehicle and she looks so much like you that my heart squeezes. I look away quickly and stare resolutely out the train window, the pressure behind my eyes sharp and painful. I wanted nothing more than to see you again. Your smirk, the way you flicked your hair, even your walk. But it's not you, it's too orange, and I can't help the tears that slip down my cheeks.

The man opposite me looks concerned. "Are you alright love?" He asks, "you look like you've seen a ghost."
I manage a sad smile and pretend like his words don't cut me. They spin in my head, a mess of green and white, as a great emptiness rises up inside me. I wallow in the misery, wading through my ocean of tears until the sand disappears from beneath my feet.

R.