What is your favourite colour?
You laugh at the somewhat shallow, silly question and change the topic of the conversation.
What colour is your favourite?
Again, not to my surprise, no straight answer.
Which colour do you like the most?
A slight eyebrow raise this time, a small improvement and the simple reply of all of them.
Why won’t you just tell me what it is?
Your head lifts from the novel as you look up at me through your eyebrows.
Well, all of them my dear, to put it simply.
The green and hazel ombre of your eyes,
The deep red of the flowers you keep beside your bed, changing it every two days.
The soft purple of the dress you wore the day we first met.
The faint bubble-gum pink kissed upon your lips.
The baby yellow daisy bracelet, that you’ve always refused to ever take off, no matter what the circumstances.
But my favourite colour of all is blue, like the deep ocean and wide, open sky. Both very similar to my love for you.
And I so painfully wanted to believe you. When you said to me that blue was your favourite colour. But now with the walls stained red, and the lifeless body lying in front of you, the smile on your face was instantaneously transparent. That it was all a lie.
So, the flowers you decorate with are that same deep red, and the balloons released are the same baby yellow. The venue is painted with the same soft purple, and I am dressed in that same bubble-gum pink.
I am covered up with a gentle mocha colour, used to conceal the blue that marks my final breath .
The colour that you love so very much.