The Color Orange

I was never big on the color myself, 
but he liked it, 
he liked light orange, 
like creamsicles,
You know the gross sticky mess on a stick, 
losing someone is like a creamsicle, 
It melts all over your hand and makes a mess, 
and when you wipe it on your pants and don't wash them, 
It sticks around, 
follows you, 
even after so many times through the washing machine.
it never goes away,
a small spot remains that nobody but you really notices,
a little spot that's stained and collects dust   

Three years ago today. 
I miss him, 
I miss the color he used to talk about during snack breaks,
and after-school activities, 
Picking the orange-flavored gummies,
out of everyone's individual gummies bags. 

I miss the jokes, 
and the games, 
and the way he laughed. 
It's weird.
Everyone always says it gets easier with time, 
I think its harder, 
Harder when forgetting comes more naturally than remembering, 
When you go to hear that voice in your head and can't quite remember the tune, 
it's not something you can playback. 
 
Today I bought a bouquet of orange flowers, 
which are ridiculously expensive by the way, 
And let them go down the river in his hometown, 
Near the tree, we climbed together, 
When both our families were having dinner at the pizza place next door. 
It was cathartic,
and yeah it was cheesy, 
but it was nice, 
quiet. 

Orange is an ugly color, 
but I love it. 
I miss when it was just a color, 
now its a fragment of a tiny memory that I hold, 
Insignificant and small, 
probably altered by time and the mushy mess in my skull, 
but still significant to me. 

Healing is harder than hurting, 
hurting is easier done quietly, 
Im working on not being so quiet, 
letting myself hurt out loud. 

Orange really is beautiful,
especially in flowers.