VIOLET // Zaroya Amjad // The Meraki Magazine

what do you want precious?
precious, for she was gold, and maybe
I was just cyanide oreo Sundae! she shouts with excitement
with stars of delirium and innocence in her eyes
I look at her face and my demons begin to waver
Why did you choose your name to be indigo?

I finally ask her after two of Sheridan’s
inspecting her indigo painted nails
and fingers decorated with sundry
bohemian rings, more radiant than
the November sun outside
“because it barely exists
they call it the sixth color of the rainbow
but really, it’s just a fantasy”
she doesn’t look at me with her
fathomless grey eyes
“you’re my fantasy”
she gives me a disapproving
lopsided smile
my weak heart knew she never
thought I would understand
but I did,
she is lost in her reverie
thinking about the mild
shivers of the bones inside of her
she does not exist fully, wholeheartedly, completely
I slide on the sand dunes of her memories
our memories, alone
for she is sitting on the top, gazing at the
space, like she’s searching for something
something unreal yet so real like her own
existence
I chase her in the infinite spirals
running, wondering
and whenever I get a little close to her
she wraps barbed wires around herself
defensive and scared

and I am back to square one
always, always
and maybe that’s how she feels,
that’s how it feels like to just
barely exist in the universe..

VIOLET // Zaroya Amjad // The Meraki Magazine

0 0 vote
Article Rating
Subscribe
Notify of
0 Comments
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments