I was once a blank wall
in da Vinci street
with nothing but
a colorless life to offer
to every passerby.
No one notices me
and I was okay with it.
Then a stranger came
and painted every corner
of my dull existence
with vibrant memories,
animated stories
and I'll-never-leave-you promises.
Yellow is all about
the mais con yelo on our first date,
the sunflower garden we visited,
and the mango-flavored Dairy's Best
we love to drink on road trips.
Pink is all about
the button-down shirt he wears with so much confidence,
the teddy bear on our first day of Valentine's,
and the pillowcases I love but he hates.
Grey is all about
the baseball cap I gave while riding the south bus,
the couple Nikes we had on our first Christmas,
and the infinity necklace he gave in front of St. Thomas Aquinas.
Brown is all about
the color of his deep, mysterious eyes,
the two cups of Milo we sip every sunrise,
and the chocolate cakes every monthsary surprise.
Blue is all about
his asthma inhaler,
the pyjamas I wear on sleepovers,
and the beach resorts we conquered.
Violet is all about
the taro ice in our Choco Loco Super from Quickly,
the ballpens everytime I write about him poetically,
and the ice cream we share during nights of Greek Mythology.
White is all about
the carbonara we cook together on Sundays,
the curtains we bought for newly-wed Eliana and Chase,
and his large shirts I wear during rainy bed days.
Red is all about
the Lang Leav books he gave every anniversary,
the R3d One dance crew's videos we envy,
and his swollen lips after hidden kisses in libraries.
Green is all about
the tall trees whenever we go camping,
the eco-bag we always bring on grocery shopping,
and the jokes that end us french-kissing.
Black is all about
my you-look-so-beautiful-tonight dress,
his oversized jacket that rescued me every aircon distress,
and my one-piece bikini he couldn't wait to undress.
Orange is all about
the I love you on the 8th sunset of September,
the bottles of beer we drank til we're far from sober,
and the bedside lamp on the night we first tasted each other.
You see,
he gave me a life full of hues
that when he chose to leave,
everything inside me
screams his name
and the wrong strokes of pain
he didn't bother to clean.
He was a great artist
and I was a willing victim
to his skillful hands
until the day he left me
in this busy street
for everyone to see.
People marvel at me
like I am flaunting
a masterpiece of graffiti,
when in reality,
every color on me is a scar
etched by a one-of-a-kind liar.
- ascute montefalco