March 2, 2011
By Enma_Ai SILVER, Rockville Centre, New York
Enma_Ai SILVER, Rockville Centre, New York
7 articles 1 photo 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
"It has been said that time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue, and the pain lessens, but it is never gone."

Blue, the color of your eyes, the sky, the ocean, I was wearing a white sundress with blue flowers on it, Miss Stanley bought me that, it has a stain from some grape juice, that I was carrying to Mr. Thomas, who was on his sick bed, he had a nice funeral, everyone attended, I sat next to the widowed Mrs. Thomas, held her hand and later read her the words of Jane Austen, I miss her, I miss you.

Green, the color of the grass, that lead to mud stained knees, a torn stocking, a bloodied elbow, there’s a scar right next to it, from falling down some stairs and through a glass window, which had overlooked the nearby playground, no more children go to it, but I did, once upon a time.

Red, the color of blood, that ran down my arms and splotched my white comforter, you had yelled at me again, called me names shouldn't have been used to, but I was and I learned to cope, with a razor, a knife, a paper clip and an old rag hidden under my pillow, you didn’t know, or maybe you did.

Purple, the color of the dress I wore to Michelle’s engagement party, there was champagne on lavender table cloths, even the kids table, so we drank, laughed, danced, cried, hugged, talked, forgave and later left to go our separate ways, with only a picture and a purple dress to remind me.

Orange, the color of pumpkins, leaves changing, Halloween is coming, soon it arrive with kids armed with pillow cases and animal masks, to try to get the most important thing in the world right now, candy, candy never made me happy, so even though my birthday was just the day before, Halloween ruined my life for me.

Yellow, the color of the sun, which later set and the cold wind blew, sending shivers down my spine, you offered me your sweatshirt that day, and I never got to return it to you.

Black, the color I wear almost every day, the color of the dress I wore the last time I saw, Mr. Thomas, and later Mrs. Thomas, and finally you, with your blue eyes, who I will never see again, I sleep with that sweatshirt you gave me because it’s the closest I’ll ever be to you again.

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