They say love is red—but why is mine yellow?
I see her, and it’s like the sun splits itself open for her, pours its light into her skin, her hair, her everything. She doesn’t just walk — she moves like the world bends to her rhythm. When she dances, it’s not like she’s practicing for something; she is the something. It’s her hips, her hands, the sway of her arms, loose but sure—like she was born knowing exactly how to own every inch of space she stands in.
And her voice. God, that voice. It’s raspy, like she’s just woken up but never slept. Soft in a way that makes you lean in, like she’s only letting you hear a secret, even when she’s laughing, which she does with her whole face. Her lips curl, her eyes half-shut, and there’s something in that smile that could make you believe in things you’ve never even thought of before.
Her eyes—those brown eyes—warm but sharp. Like they see you, really see you, but they don't dwell too long, like you’re just another face in a sea of faces. Maybe that’s what breaks me the most. I’m just someone who watches from a distance, too afraid to be seen by the light she carries. Too afraid she might laugh in that beautiful voice if she knew.
I can’t help it, though. I look at her, and all I can think is yellow. Bright, burning, blinding. It’s not the hot, wild rush of red everyone talks about when they speak of love. It’s the warmth that sits on your skin and sinks deep into your bones, something that makes you feel alive but too scared to reach out and hold it.
It’s strange, isn’t it? How love for me isn’t the passion people write poems about. It’s quieter, softer—like sunlight spilling through the cracks, like the feel of her name on my tongue, even when I don’t say it out loud. It’s the way my breath catches every time our eyes meet, even though it has happened a hundred times already. How I know every inch of her laugh, every rise and fall of her voice, how it scrapes at the edges of my heart in a way that almost hurts but doesn’t.
Maybe love is red for everyone else, but for me, it’s her. It’s yellow.
