tincture

tincture

/ˈtɪŋ(k)tʃə/

noun

1. a slight trace of something.

———

You taught me the colour of pink. It was when you bumped into me and knocked me to the ground.

“Are you ok?”

I didn't understand the blush spreading across your cheeks. Isn't blushing supposed to be cute? Isn't it supposed to be girly? 

I grabbed your hands. The feeling of your big hands against my petite ones was comforting, it was nice, it felt safe. Pink made me feel like there was a secret, a little something there that no one else could see, but it was still there. 

Pink is the cuteness.

Pink is the blush.

Pink is the smile.

Pink is the excitement of something new.

———

You showed me blue when I looked into your eyes, their icy colour sent shivers down my spine. I liked it.

Doesn't blue normally mean sadness, like tears, but aren't tears clear? It's like the sky that we all look up at. It's like water, but it has different meanings. What does blue really mean?

I saw your eyes, the fading shades of blue and yet happiness is what I felt.

Blue is the sky.

Blue is the water.

Blue is the emotion.

Blue is the butterflies you made me feel.

———

You taught me purple, and for once I wish you hadn't because the purple marks that littered your face were not happy.

Purple is a sad colour. It means the start of something new, something painful. It's like a beautiful field of lavender that could rot and become a field of the dead, black lavender. 

I don't want you to wilt, that's what everyone else wants, but not me.

Purple is the darkness.

Purple is the power.

Purple is the intense.

Purple is my determination to save you from them.

———

Yellow was after, the different splatters of paint covering your arms. You showed me your painting, its yellow tones standing out against the plain background. I smiled. It's pretty.

The picture can tell a thousand stories.

“It's not that good, I'm not like Van Gogh when it comes to colours.”

Didn't Van Gogh drink yellow paint to be happy? Yellow means the sun because doesn't yellow mean happiness? That you are filled with joy? And why does yellow only ever mean the same thing?

Yellow is the cheer.

Yellow is the encouragement.

Yellow is the motivation.

Yellow is the happiness you bring me, but can’t feel.

———

Next you taught me red. You showed me the pain of the dark colour seeping through your jumper sleeves,

The red was spreading across your wrist, colouring the lines of your hand. Red means love, but it can also mean anger.

“I’m ok.”

That's what you told me when I left class after you, But you weren't ok, the red kept flowing, colouring the small bandaid you had plastered across the cut. Red was toxic and contagious. 

Red was not a happy colour.

Red is the anger.

Red is the backlash.

Red is the suffering.

Red is the pain no one else can feel.

———

You taught me green next, the chartreuse pill casing disappearing with a single gulp. You told me you were ok, but the green pills said otherwise. I don't think I like green.

They say green means healthy, but if it does then why were you swallowing those awful things? 

“It helps me feel better.”

That's what you said, but I didn’t understand, I thought it was them. I thought they spread the inky purple colour, created the dark red stains on your sleeves. Maybe you didn’t need to be saved from them.

Green is the sinister

Green is the evil

Green is the regret

Green is the sickness that rules your mind.

———

I wish you never showed me white because the white flowers that sat on your casket were a reminder that I couldn't save you from the evil inside of you. 

White was the plain.

White was the emotionless.

White was the end.

White was the empty page at the end of our story.

———

Grey was the last thing you showed me. The monochromatic nature of the stone was abrasive, its dull colour hurting my eyes.

‘I wish I could have saved you.”

The glass shard that was placed there all those months ago reflects the light, creating all those colours and memories you left me with, but they weren’t full like they were with you, they were merely tincture, just like you.

Grey is the choice.

Grey is the decision.  

Grey is the solitude.  

Grey is the true end.

———