Monday, August 15, 2011
Mag 78 Painting over purple
They had left their limb wrapped days behind a long time ago. Their room was deep blue back in their early days. There was no household list then, no 'who's turn is to change the sheets? I did it last time' conversations with pauses that wounded, a massacre of silence.
They changed the colour of their room often since then, the blue always remained her favourite.
Once when he was sleeping, she wrote a poem in purple ink in a hidden corner of the white walls. She was love doped, loving herself in love, she knows that now.
That poem was her last. To him anyhow.
She realises now that she is a love addict, a girl in love with being in love, 'a serial romantic', Oprah would probably call her.
That's why she sought out a new man and a new room.
A pity her partner found out.
The painting equipment was produced. He painted in silence.
Shame, he painted over her poem.
She had meant it then, all that love and lust trapped in purple ink.
A Magpie Tales prompt Thanks, Tess.