I will not deny the poems I've offered you, nor the metaphors I've woven to capture the essence of my feelings. Each one is painfully real.
You are everything I need, yet you are also the embodiment of my deepest fears. At times, you are the only thing keeping me grounded in the belief that I still possess some semblance of humanity.
But the emotions stirring within me are not merely those described as love. There is fear.
I thought you were the last remaining color in a world drained of vibrancy. I've always observed the world through fractured lenses, but you—an anomaly—stand as an inscrutable figure against the backdrop of my fractured logic.
You are the color cast upon my gray, listless canvas.
Yet the more time I spend with you, the more my perception unravels. Perhaps this is the love people speak of, but I always knew how futile I am. I have tried to be one of the brighter shades on the canvas, a spot of light against the void, but the more I try, the taller my fear stands, looming over me.
I cannot conquer the fear that grows intertwined with the affection I harbor. It chokes me.
I am terrified—of disappointing you, of breaking you, of descending deeper into the madness that already stains my thoughts. I fear you will shatter. I fear you will leave, and then what will I have left when the only color I knew vanishes into the night?
Fear upon fear, question after question, they fill my mind. I do not deny your influence over me; you have revealed more to me than anyone ever has. Yet I was naive to think we could remain in this fragile state of youth forever.
I am unworthy of you. I've always known that, and what if your father comes to the same conclusion?
You must understand—I have never truly known what it is to be loved. The words others use to describe such feelings have always fallen flat to me, like brittle leaves in a windless void.
My family taught me only to survive, but you—you've shown me what it means to live.
Even now, I cannot forget the brief moments we shared. The fragments linger: the stolen hours from your hectic days, the faint resonance of your voice in the stillness of night, the chance encounter that drew our paths together.
And yet, somehow, it all collapsed. You were everything, and because of that, I concealed it all from you—until the ticking of the time bomb could no longer be silenced, its detonation inevitable.
I left you.
I wished for your hatred.
Not without reason—I didn't want the only color I'd ever known to fade, merging into the thick blackness.
Perhaps it was all my fault.
Perhaps all of this is merely my excuse.
I wanted your happiness above all else.
Even if it meant sacrificing my own.
Good night, my only Color.