by Brendon Cooper
It's the aftermath of red.
It's after the passion and fury and lust, before the blood pools out -
it's cold and it's silence, silence and sorrow and washed-out washed-up clichés.
It's the colour of her eyes the first time you really see her.
It's the colour of the sky when you realise you love her -
it's the long, long nights after when you realise that maybe she doesn't want it as much as you thought.
You'll feel it when she leaves and the red ebbs out.
It's the pills you'll take to get to sleep, and the rush and flow of the tide that eventually cleanses out your heart.
It's social media flashing to the world: YOU ARE NO LONGER IN A RELATIONSHIP.
It's when you can only describe a colour in terms of love, and when all you can think of is her, and her, and her -
and how you just can't help but feel crushed when you remember that she is out of bounds and you, you,
you can't even think of a colour without calling to mind
You could have picked summer skies, your bedroom walls, the flash of contrast in your idol's signature lightning bolt -
but you went with this.
This is how it feels.