Just an outline made of skin
And my walls are paper-thin

You always said that spring was your favorite season, solely due to the fact that the flowers blossomed and everything was lively. Nothing hurt then and time was merely a human construct. The faded edges of my memories gained clarity whenever I breathed in the fresh air. But if I really concentrated on those moments, it didn’t smell purely fresh. It smelled like your hair, especially that strawberry-scented soap that you swore wasn’t strong enough of a scent. When you’d lie beside me, I’d know it was you though because of that aroma. It also smelled of rain water, the kind that pitter-pattered on the rooftop as we splashed through puddles on the way home from the bakery.

“Well, would you look at that.”

A whisper, the smile on your lips, directed towards me as you wrung out your hair, the ends curling slightly. We stood under the awning of your house and I leaned forward to look at what you were pointing out.

“I don’t see what you’re-”

“Look a little closer.”

My eyes strained in the semi-darkness as I saw a miniscule creature, a flash of red on the daffodils flourishing in a windowsill pot. I reached over to turn on the light, illuminating the small porch. The ladybug shifted before settling again on the daffodil.

“Dara, c’mon, I’ll fix you a hot drink and we can have some of that bread too, if you’d like,” My fingers threaded through yours, mine almost instantly warming at the contact.

“Fine, but I need to go out to the garden once it stops raining.” That was your response to me, followed by a quick kiss on my cheek as we went inside, flicking lights on so we weren’t fumbling through the dark.

You didn’t tend to the garden after we ate bread and butter with our large mugs of tea in hand. Instead, we sat on the couch and you insisted that I tell you a story, much to my dismay. We both had to work in the morning. I glanced at the clock, the neon numbers flashing at me like a warning: 2:14. How could I say no to those eyes and that pout though? You tucked your head into the space under my chin, the blanket wrapped around us comfortably, and waited. I cleared my throat, knowing you hated the sound and how it amplified at your angle.

“This will be a short one,” I said carefully, gauging your reaction with a quick glance.

“Just hurry up and tell the story, Lu,” came your muffled response as you buried your face in my neck.

I kept on telling the story, even after I knew you had fallen asleep.

I wanna let you color me in
 

Everyone always thought we were destined to be a summer romance left to extinguish itself like a candle thrown into a rainstorm. It was true that we’d met in the summertime but if anything that only made me more stubborn to keep you. I had never seen you so upset until the day you came home and I was in a drunken stupor, the dressing table nearly torn apart and your belongings scattered around the house. Half a dozen shirts, a few dresses, a lone shoe and two mismatched socks were at my feet when you found me in the bathtub. You turned the shower head on faster than I could comprehend at the time, dousing me in water so cold that my teeth ground together and my face felt numb. Then you turned it off and took my face into your soft, delicate hands.

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