Red. The colour of his flushed cheeks on the cold winter's day when they first lay eyes on one another. When he stumbled over his words and hid his face behind his hands.
Violet. The colour of his eyes when they lit up with stifled laughter and barely suppressed smiles. When they sent built-up pain and emotions tumbling down his cheeks. When they gazed meaningfully, speaking every silent word without fail.
Gold. The colour of his flyaway hair reflecting the high-noon, mid-summer sunlight.
Black. The colour of his passionate, lustful sighs, lost to the moonlight. The colour of his jacket that always smelled of campfires and too-sweet coffee
Blue. The colour of the car he climbed into, laughing freely. The colour of the sky when he smiled toward the passenger seat.
Crimson. The colour of the life leaking from him onto the hot, stinking asphalt where he lay. The colour of his fear and disbelief and agony.
Green. The colour of the screeching monitor portraying a flat, soul-crushing line.
White. The colour of the sheet pulled over his face as the doctors solemnly scribbled down time and cause. The colour of his skin as the casket sealed him away.
Grey. The colour of all that is left.
