This isn't a paint by number romance.
The highs of bright blues
That rest in your eyes
Come in waves
Encircling us without warning.

The lows of pastels and deadening grays
That rest in both of our hearts
Brought on by broken truths and pain
Of failed past romances
Catches us, Creeps up on us.
Without warning.

There are no predictions.
Nothing right to say
Will this relationship's colors
Remain bright and ablaze
Or slowly fade away?

We'll repaint this canvas
A new color everyday.
There are no instructions.
No symbols to represent
The moments we'll paint red.
And which hours we'll paint blue.

In this anticipation and unpredictability.
Lies a fascinating beauty.
So lets breathe in the fiery reds,
Playful fuschias, intense oranges,
Awkward greens, and even the serious browns.
Not every day can be a wave of blue.

This isn't a paint by number romance.
Paint me your favorite color.

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