Letter to Yellow

!!cussing !!explicit language

Dear Yellow,

read the entirety of this letter or I’ll forever haunt you and everyone you hold dear.

I hate you.

When the sky is pouring, I like to put my hand out and feel the rainfall on my hands, welling up the small crooks of my palms. 

I wish this dirty sky water was poisonous. I'd give you a glass of it and watch you die.

Rain reminds me of our 7th monthsary, when you decided to have a picnic in that green meadow by your father’s cabinet. You forgot to check the weather and we ended up soaking wet, but that didn’t come as a surprise (I loved that you were spontaneous and naïve, it made life more like an adventure to pursue rather than an unpredictable hassle to live by). What came as a surprise was that your father never had a cabinet, and we were, in fact, trespassing. 

We spent that afternoon running away from the crazy lady, the actual owner of the cabinet, shouting “you punks!” with a gun.

Rain reminds me of you tripping and almost getting shot, and us being a bit too tipsy to realize the dark connotation that would've come if you weren't a lucky bastard who managed to get up and run away; that was the day we decided we'd make a list, the: “Crazy things to tell our grandkids”-list.

Maybe I should've just left you and let that gun lady kill you.

When the sun seems like it’s angry at the rocks, and barges heavily into my room, I hope you’re getting a heatstroke. Like that time we went out of the city and you almost fainted on me, only this time I'd personally push you headfirst into the concrete and you'd hopefully fall into a coma. If that were to happen, I’d hope you didn't wake up, and that you'd be jumping on the string hovering between Life and Death, unable to fall on either side.

On sunny days we used to go to the beach or have a walk in some random city a few hours away from home.

Do you remember how we'd dress up in fancy clothes and walk with flair as if the world were ours?

As much as you were spontaneous, I must admit I was careless. 

I'd lose pieces of me by the fountains, at the square, at bars… how many times have I misplaced hair-ties, sunglasses, and what-so, now? And yet you were always finding them in the shadows like sun rays uncovering the dark.

When the wind is strong, I let the air in for a couple of minutes and hope a typhoon has ruined your house.

Do you remember how we first met? Years must've passed since then.

I've had my fair share of annoying customers, but you managed to climb the list and hungrily steal first place from the girl who threw me her tacos. Ironically enough, you also became my favorite customer.

I still laugh about it, sometimes: I fell in love with the guy who complained about the wind messing up his hair for 2 hours on a date. I don't know how she didn't stand you up earlier.

When she walked away you went to the counter and asked for a drink – and you weren't angry or pissed, you were just… there. Enjoying the yellow-ish cocktail and looking at me.

You said that she walked away because the two of you weren't meant to be, and if you were, Destiny would've found a way to intertwine your Life Strings again.

At that moment I thought I hated you. 

Why would you blame something that was entirely your fault on a bigger cause?

You must’ve seen it from my face because you just laughed it off and told me about the Red Thread of Fate.

You said you preferred to think that someone was out there – that someone was right for you and you were right for them. You said she wasn’t the one and you couldn’t feel the spark of love. I pointed out you talked about your hair for about two hours, and you smiled and went something like “Well, she was outspoken enough to let me.”

Are you a masochist, Yellow? Did you want her to fight you? Was the spark you were looking for the genesis of a war? Is that why we worked?

I didn’t fully understand you and I don’t think I ever will.

But the slight discomfort of being with you kept me at ease. Knowing that you and I were so different and disagreed with each other, yet we still decided to be together was what made us real to me. Fighting with you, making up, laughing together… they all gave me the thrill of a life I didn’t believe I was made for.

I thought I was bound to be alone, like I didn’t have a red string attached to my other half. And yet you came and you were you and I was me.

And you were happy and friendly and yellow; I was stoic, polite, blue… and complementary colors go so well together.

We worked like wine and cheese. Like a pinch of salt in desserts, like voices harmonizing in a song.

It was exactly like a fairytale. With the addition of many, many fights and makeups.

Being with you was like riding over the speed limit at night, windows down and loud music playing. You felt like rollercoasters before the drop, or like seeing the finish line to a marathon.

And yet you also felt like the sun was kissing my skin; you felt like the comfort of a hug and the smell of bread in the morning.

You were home, but you were also lightning and thunder on a summer day.

I never felt as free as when I was with you.

Later on, you kept coming into the bar and chit-chatting with me.

One day you confessed you hated the wind, and when I asked you why you didn’t want to tell me – you knew the reason behind it was ridiculous, but you ordered enough drinks to gain the courage and tell me. You said that when you were young you were playing with your favorite kite, and the wind was too strong and snatched it away.

I teased you about it and your neck became as red as the tablecloth in the kitchen.

You said you blew your date up because you were sure there was no way you’d meet the one on a windy day, and yet you met me. 

Two months after meeting me, your drunken eyes told me you were sure that I was the one.

I’ve always wanted to tell you this, Yellow, so I’ll say it now.

I hate that your brainless head saw me like your fucking kite. I hate that you made it your choice to barge into my life and made me love it and then ruin me because you can't be bothered. I hate that you thought I’d be your chance to demonstrate you were stronger than the fucking wind. 

You were a weak kid, no wonder you let go.

You let go of that kite like you let go of me. Nothing's changed.

The wind wasn’t too strong, my situation isn’t too difficult. You just can’t be bothered to give a damn fuck in the world.

You only care about yourself, and your hair, your kite, your stupid movie-like romantic tropes.

I can't believe you left me to die. 

You just put me under the bed, like some magazine you want no one to see.

Do your friends ask you about me? Or am I in the “no mention” zone? Do they avoid the topic as much as you’ve avoided looking me in the eyes when you found out I had cancer?

Frankly, I hope they’re disgusted by you.

You’re a vile, simple-minded sad little man in your high big chair, so why do I still love you?

Why do I feel like my Red thread was tied to you, and you cut it off?

Why do I still feel the need to call you when the doctor comes in and tells me about how my lungs are not doing what they're supposed to, as if the pain of breathing isn't a clear sign of it?

Why do I wake up in the middle of the night and call your name? It always takes me a while to remember you've left the spot on the left side of my bed, and the chair will stay empty.

Why do I feel like somehow it’s my fault?

Fuck you.

Fuck you for coming into my life.

Fuck you for making me fall in love with you. 

Fuck you for making me believe we were meant to be, for making me hope we would be together through thick and thin, and then fucking leave.

Fuck you for escaping into your bubble and blaming Destiny for your poor decision-making skills. You go look for the one, but you refuse to go along with the struggle of it. 

I hate you.

I fucking hate you.

I hate you as much as I love you, and I hate that.

I fucking hate that for some reason I still love you.

I love you, and I will die loving you.

Not yours anymore,

Fuck you,

Blue.