nine letters, with colour

In a field coloured by the setting sun, we lay; she and I. Rains have passed and at times between now and then, she shivers from the cold. A sweater I had lent her - covered in silver and white paint, each shade in a pattern of its own – to keep warm. A smile she had lent me – to keep warm. The scattered clouds above us tell the story of her eyes. The way they hide an endless blue with the grey of the world that they’ve taken. Sin, indifference, hate and an endless blue.
For hours we lay, but she is not here. A thought, without a memory. A memory, without one to share. Though, I speak. And I tell her that there’s nothing left but that which she is yet to have taken. And, breathlessly, I say her name. Each letter of the words I had spoken, I coloured, like a field. Like a field, coloured by the rising sun.