December. I am gold. Like the moonlight. My lips still taste like the alcohol on your breath the first night we met. They are warm and swollen. Your kiss memorized in my brain. I am floating on a cloud. My heart begins to thaw as your hand touches mine. The snowflakes lace between my hair like a million little crystals. I know I should be cold but winter is warm in your coat. You make everything so beautiful.

January. I am silver. I am your new year’s kiss. My fingers are laced through your hair and I am laying on your couch. You play the Bob Dylan record we bought last week, you strum my feelings along with your chords. Your fingers are beautiful, gentle yet strong. I feel safe in your sheets, you tell me about your dreams. I fall for you. It is too cold for our love, you tell me that all that is silver eventually rusts.

February. I am grey. I am a shattered mirror, my life lacks the colours you once brought. It is still snowing and I long for it to rain and wash away my thoughts. I bathe a lot, to rid your touch, I drown myself every night. It is still cold and I burry my face in your scarf. My friends are showered with flowers and empty promises. They wonder where you are. I do too and curse your name. My tears flood my room and the moonlight fades. Your name tastes bitter.

March. I am red. I light cigarette after cigarette, knowing how much you hate the smoke. I picture you saving my tired lungs and planting flowers on my chest once more. The phone rings again but I have grown and know better. I wonder if you think of me, I wonder why I still do. I see your friend on the street, we speak of you. He tells me your eyes grew sad. I light one more.

April. I am blue. Like the eyes that meet my own. He kisses me, but I think of you. He tastes different and he does not keep me warm. I feel nothing, I feel numb. Brown is still my favourite colour but I cannot find it in his ocean. The snow has melted away my tears, but I can still feel myself slipping away. I am torn between absent onyx and present azure. You call my phone…

May. I am white. I am older and have turned a new page. Don’t get me wrong, I am still as confused as ever and your name is still on my lips despite our short lived romance, but I’ve moved on, don’t you mind. I can feel my heart like it’s still breaking and stains might appear once in a while on the white canvas of my new-found home, but I’ve closure. I’ve loved and I’ve lost, I’ve grown and learned. I love myself once more.