I am not good
but they are good with me.
This is the last of this kind,
for I’m a bit tired of telling my mind
that realities knock down
the sand-castles that fiction builds.
You gave me a bit of Yellow,
when you walked by me.
But you were traveling,
and with moon guiding the tides,
you left to discover yourself.
Leaving me the open Blue, to reflect on.
Time likes to break your bones,
and fix them every time.
It makes colors fade away,
and intensifies the taste.
It makes us appreciate little things.
So now when it’s all turning White,
I touch, smell and taste
bits of Blues and Yellows still left.
I’ll never be sad that we didn’t happen,
I prefer the colors,
in this specific order.