Colourless

She watched the sun set in black and white. She saw the waves crash against the cliff, black depths and white foam. She stared at the faded moon that waxed and waned, ghastly bright against the darkness behind. And she wondered. She wondered where the hues had gone from the sun. She wondered what darkness lay beneath the waves. She wondered what emptiness waited in the skies. She wondered if the world was colourless, before anyone was there to see it. She remembered the gold of the sunbeams that basked them, before he went. She remembered the blue ocean kissing the white shores and their bare feet, before he left. She remembered the light that came from the stars, its iridescence and glow, before he died. She ghosted forward. Her face was drawn. Her eyes were sunken. Her lips were pale. She was a skeletal corpse. She was colourless, like the sun, the sea and the sky. The fall was fast and slow. The fall was everything and nothing. She could almost feel his arms wrap around her, as she whispered, “I found you.” Her body found the rocks and the sea, and she was silent. And when the sun rose again, just as ashen, she realized she never said goodbye.