Greys.

I was never too fond of colours. My world was all black and white. I didn't dare deviate from these two shades and was skeptical that I even could.
And then you came in. Like some Disney prince walking down the carpet straight into my heart and colouring it all shades of grey.
In my black and white, you brought in all possible greys and trust me each of your grey emotions appealed a lot more to me than your blacks and whites.
With those ever so gorgeous eyes which one would wish to drown in, and that half smirk which would kill all these goddamed women you said, 'listen. I know all your lovers before have swore on your beauty and have promised you the short lived forevers, but I won't do that. I won't promise you a forever or eternity, I would promise you each of my cells, and organs. All my blood and skin and hair. Right now. Till I'm here. Till we can feel each other's skin. Till your hair wavers into my eyes. And till your fingers can still grasp mine.'
While everyone before was trying to fix all of my pieces together telling me that I needed healing, he told me that I was a mosaic. And that none of my parts needed to be fixed and that I looked dazzling just like that and to try mend me would be destruction of a being that God had created with such craftsmanship.
He made me believe in things like unicorns and rainbows. The smoke from my cigarette would often curl itself around his head, and he- he'd become, my guardian angel with that halo over his head adding to the beauty of it all. We would see fucking sunrises together and talk of how there was indescribable charm in it. How it hurt me a little more each night when the moon died one death after another to let sun come to life. Of how this was true love which couldn't ever be realised by reality.
My heart was all those fireflies caught inside that Mason jar whose lid he opened and threw away. He believed that beauty trapped isn't beauty at all.
It was after him that I understood what it was like to be caged yet be free. With his arms around me in a warm embrace, did I ever find the meaning of liberation.
It was metanoia, wherein I- a being became I- a living Being. Not living in the sense that I was respiring every other moment taking in a gasp of air and throwing another out. Everyone does that. But living. In the sense that I could see how the stars moved across the sky and danced for their lovers inside the clouds who had waited for them to come back to life in the dark alley of the sky which runs down into the abyss of love.
Love. A four letter word which has infinite definitions yet that one night I couldn't explain it using any of them.
Love. Which was perhaps what I felt but couldn't put it on paper.
Love. Which made me believe in unicorns and I saw one coming right through the door-Him.
Love. Which made the bed smell no more or tainted sorrow but of fresh come.
Love. Which is something that everyone feels at one point of time when the violins start playing in the big black sky and the saints sing of loss.
Love. And loss. Have that same address. They fuck each night and their mourns sing of longing of all those lovers that they had put apart.
But still, they go together, wherever they go. As in unaffected by the melancholia and grief.
And I lost you. To love.