He'd always remember her colour, that beautiful red against her shocking ivory soft to the touch skin. Her la femme en rouge lancome that she bought religiously and applied only for him. In her younger year she had worn a shocking purple but she had matured, age became her she had beautiful lines surrounding her emerald eyes which reflected the trials she had overcome. The eyes truly are the windows to the soul and not only were hers full of glory but there was a pure passion unlike any he had ever encountered with the countless women he had known. It was this colour he had loved so much she found herself using to bring him so much pain, how ironic that the once favoured lipstick would become so despised. At first he had made such an effort to change, to be someone he never thought he could be with his upbringing and original career, being loving, attentive and supportive was not his primary nature. But with her he always was and so much more. But time was wearing thin on the pair and she found herself more and more snappy, although her anger was not at him but he always became her target (and she was a pretty sharp shooter). This led to his old habit of drinking to oblivion giving her a perfect opportunity to do what she knew -- goodbye -- I can never be cured so we will never heal.
I wrote a goodbye note in lipstick on your arm
When you passed out
I couldn't bring myself to call
Except to call it quits
Best friends
Ex-friends till the end
Better off as lovers
And not the other way around
Racing through the city
Windows down
In the back of yellow checkered cars