You painted your room burnt crimson that summer- you said the color helped you sleep. There was always a pile of ash from the incense we kept burning. Spilling shitty tobacco on your floor. I asked if you ever thought these moments could end abruptly for us. You laughed and said, “how could you ever think such a thing?”.

Later that night we hear your step dad yelling about the house smelling like a fire. You told me you’d burn the whole thing down with him in it if you knew there wasn’t a chance at getting caught. I think a part of you was serious and that scared me a little. It’s been years since then and I still smoke cigarettes. Wonder if you do the same.

Yesterday, someone asked me what my favorite color was- I chuckled and said “burnt crimson”. -AMT©️