You’re the title of a Deftones album.


In my mind, I figured if you were any color, you’d be cerulean. I wish I could blame it on bad lighting or my abscence of will to do anything but see the bottom of my glass on repeat that night. I don’t know if it was the ennui of that time, of having everything I had always thought I’d wanted, but I never loved the color blue so much as I did in that moment. Colorful are the parallels of functions and humans—where I stood, my body stilled by your chromaticity, unaffected by the others. And I saw you stand in that dark corner, hazily meeting with my unfresh eyes. I saw you and met with your intent and matched your smiles, untoward to my feet. Because I couldn’t move a thing but one tendril of hair on repeat around my finger. Slow, steady, controlled.  The feeling of frozen paralysis by cool, collected hues cast by a stranger. Because I may not have known you in that moment, who you were, or if I’d ever see you again, but I knew what you’d do to me.

“You see that man standing over there?” Whispers that barely left my lips.

“Yeah…do you know him?”

“Never seen him before.”

“Maybe you should go over and talk to him.”

I can’t.
That’s the man I’m going to marry.”

She can’t contain her wine as she laughs uncontrollably.

I join in.

Koi No Yokan.
Japanese: 恋の予感


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