Making Up With the Sun

We need to make up with the sun,

Did I do something wrong?

When we talk about the daylight hours that we are robbed of

on our commute home

Is that why I feel so alone?

The coloured houses share in my sympathy.

They look back at me

They know how I want to go so desperately

To see them

To be filled with the same energy

When life is in grayscale

I come back in Picasso’s colour

(Sharp yet soft

A blend of sorts)

Bright and lovely.

Paintings and you always go together.

Merging like oil paints in the caveats of my memory

How I want to be there so desperately

On top of the molar hills of sickly-sweet greenery

How life felt like a 1920’s Weimar movie

A golden era

I think, as I walk back from the station.

Unable to mention how I feel.

Lips tightened; sealed.

Just like your grasp

Loosely tight

Supposedly comforting in the speckled evening light.

Where was I?

Back to this conversation which reminds me of you.

How I predict that you would agree

That the phrase sounds interesting

‘Making up with the sun’

Making up with you

How desperately I wish things didn’t end

When they had just begun.

by Pippa Hill