my love remains within all the things life forgets to mention.

she is out busy being definitive, refusing to be true.

the stories she tells me are like the images in coloring books with the contrast reversed,

all i could ever do is drag one color around it to acknowledge her.

i tried greens and golds; hues of blue and orange, but the task was so clearly hiding a dark mass, at last i chose black.

i chose black because you didnt seem to want to be defined. you always seemed happiest when you could drown yourself in the things you refused to know.