Black is supposedly not a color but rather an absence of light, and I feel as though this suits us well considering you were my light and you are no longer around. It’s the color of each strand in your hair that shone under those fluorescent lights as you echoed well-rehearsed lines that impressed me from behind velvet curtains. The hue of the fabric of the band t-shirts that clung to your well sculpted bones and hung from jagged angles. The void of desire between the pit of reality, the tinge in my stomach with bitter realization. It’s the darkness that consumes me in more ways than one, the nighttime sky that surrounds my bones like a blanket when I run from landmarks of my stained past. Sharp, vivid, bitter, addicting. It’s the shades of ink that spread across the margins of textbooks with quixotic ideals and paragraphs I dared not even whisper. The edges of memories that included your hand in mine that Wednesday night and the color of the sky the moon hung the night I felt infinite. A contrast to white, an antonym for purity. The color of the edges of city buildings and the creak of summer doors at 2 AM, the tone responsible for the lashes that shade chocolate eyes and the rust that laid pillowed between dusty keyholes to unexplored adventure. Shadows dancing across cement playgrounds, the breath in the almost, the tinge congesting stage door airs. The hue of midnight whispers between moonlit 2:37’s, vestiges of thumbprints that lay under cover of darkness.
Words by Kyley Schultz // Photography by Johanna Mariel.
© 2015 Reef Magazine