My Bedsheet

Laying in bed,

thinking about you

and all of the colours we use to go through.

The blues, the greens

the in betweens.

Sun comes and goes,

pretending like no one knows.

All of the colours,

to nothing but gray.

You left me here alone,

year after year.

For what would we know,

without all of our colours.

At the end of the summer,

last summer of summers.