The Orange Letter

It used to be my favorite color before you came along. I used to love the way it would fill the space around me during the late afternoon. I loved how it spread across fields in the form of tall blooming flowers. I loved how it would flicker at the base of a warm bonfire. I loved how it would take the form of my dress and make it so everyone would notice me. Not only was it my favorite color, but it was a part of who I was and it helped define me.

Then, on that one deceitful day, you left me a note on that wonderful orange paper that I gave you so you could think of me. You had informed me that you were leaving, and that you weren't coming back. I tore that letter into many orange pieces, almost mimicking the burning of flying embers from a fire as they fell to the floor. I remember gathering the orange pieces and putting them on that stump that you always sat on, and I burned them. I watched as the angry flames took the orange from the slivers and turned them black. The deep orange of the flames engulfed the old stump as I stood there and laughed.