The color of break up.


“It’s over!” he said.

Memory flashes.

Coffee date.

Ice cream. Vanilla.

Lingerie impaled on the beige lampshade. A spider running for dear life.

The taste of the beef burger she had with Ashley over lunch hour lingers in her mouth.

Or is it her mind?

Never mind.

She had convinced herself that she had everything under control. She was the one to break up with him, not the other way round and that was why she wore a Burgundy dress because Burgundy is the color of heartbreak. She wanted to brag to her girlfriends how she had kicked his ass to the curb and how pitiful he looked begging her to stay;

Oh please don’t leave me!

Am gonna die without you!

You are my everything!

Oh this, oh that……

Ludicrous things that men say, you know.

He would fall down on his knees and shed manly tears. He would curve his lips upward, trying to summon more tears, more shame. More misery……

“What?”

“Marjorie, I don’t love you anymore,” he pronounced. The intensity of the words left her mouth agape like a green frog just about to jump from one stone to another then another.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t,”

She pinched her elbow. It was true. This was happening to her alright.

“It was nice knowing you,” he walked out like he had just won a game of squash.

“I…,” she stammered. “Damn you, go to hell!” she shouted.

But it was too late. Only his shadow lurked behind a second longer to blow her a final, unsympathetic farewell kiss.

 

photo credit

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