In that chapter of my life,
you were the color of cerulean.
Bright, vibrant, and the the most beautiful
thing anyone has ever seen.
We played with blocks and barbies
even though I
knew you hated them, and
I thought boys were icky,
and you said I had cooties,
but we loved with pure innocence.
Life seemed eternal,
we felt immortal,
and time was just an eager blur
that left us behind.

That brings us to the next chapter
when you were a firey red.
Hot tempered, quick-witted,
and the smartest a** on the block.
You found hormones, and I
found new friends.
I liked you.
You liked me,
but we were too scared to try.
Life seemed long,
we had time,
and nothing would change that.

Years passed, and the
pages of our book turned
and split in two.
You were yellow and had
settled down, ready for life.
We each found someone else
and kept in touch,
never saying what was on our minds,
or better yet, our hearts.
Life seemed okay,
and we seemed okay,
and the clock kept on ticking,
even for us.

And that brings us to this final page,
of this final chapter,
when you are the color of gray.
Still, cold, lifeless.
Our love wasted,
and our time gone.
Life came crashing down,
and we had an expiration date.
Our book ended with a tear
and a gravestone.
Along with a flood of regrets
And, turns out,
our story was never meant to be a fairytale with a happy ending.