monroe had grey eyes. everything about her was grey. but my love for her was rose-like red and the way she loved me was like stepping on rose-like thorns. yet i still found little bits of rainbows in her hands. in the wrinkles that showed up when she smiled. in her tears when she cried. in the stretch marks on her breasts and her wide hips she hated. i found the colours everywhere, but they were all so blue. /matty healy/