I fell in love with her when we first met. Her striking blue eyes and brown hair was enough to pull me in from the start. She asked me my favorite color, and if I'm being honest, I hadn’t considered blue in even my top 10 until she said it was hers. 

In that moment, I think I could’ve lived in it. Eventually, I hoped I would.

Everything I saw was blue. That all too familiar bottle of daisy perfume, The love stories on her bookshelf, The color of the irises I sent; and later found in the trash. 

Those bright blue eyes stared at me nervously when they threw me out, and all I could see was red. Foolish men, no barriers are strong enough to hold back the fire I feel in my heart. I wanted my own love story, too. One of great passion, just like the classics. 

Now, she no longer sleeps under her light blue comforter, but rather, under mine. She no longer resists my kisses, and she no longer locks the apartment door. As I watch her skin slowly fade to an array of that favorite color of hers, and I realize eternal love really does lie within the colors of the soul.