Watercolor Confession

by Sydney Weber

April 29, 2018

The golden snow fell lazily,

you were slumped,

absorbed in the blue and grey of the desk

even though the blinds let the sun creep in,

and exposed your pristine marble features.

I could have reached out a hand,

could have slipped beneath your conclusions,

could have given you

my watercolor confession.

I could have plunged into

the murky waters of the rinsing cup.

I could have spilled my memories,

of vibrant red admiration,

or explosive orange excitement,

and excluded the indigo uncertainty.

I could have extended my hand

and allowed the sun to

dry my watery canvas,

evaporate the ambiguity.

And I’d confess:

through the passions of red and green,

the reasons of my inexplicable love to

explore the shading in your character,

the mannerism of your texture,

painting your life in mine.

But time has revealed the truth,

that I so desperately tried to paint over.

We were never close.

I painted pictures of you, and

kept them locked away in my chest.

Yet, digging with my dripping paint brush,

I hoped you’d share yours with me.

But, my sparse memories,

are smeared and lost,

in the murky colors

of what was once a

clear cup of water

to rinse the brush

after painting,

one color

at a

time.

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