she's digging a hole with her fingers and she's got it all tangled around her ankles, and she's saying, saying something, her lips in the shape of her love, her bright eyes leaking heat, melting the words she's saying, and no one hears her
grey and blue and violet -- the colors don't matter when she's colorblind
and she cradles her head in her hands, holding it, for fear it'll break open with all the mess within, all the love,
if only she could tell it apart from all the rest, she can't.

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