A Colour Inside of It All

I have never quite felt
the way I do
about you,
been so embarrassed
by the sheer nakedness
of my feelings,
and never deluded myself
that we were anything more than
two women who were fucking
like I have sometimes done in the past,
despite our propensity
for sharing things we wouldn’t
with others.

And you of all people
would know
the pain of being in love
with someone
constitutionally incapable
of loving you back
—but it’s more than that, isn’t it?
It’s having full knowledge
of that very incapability
and finding yourself
in love
just the same.

And if I only
weren’t so careless
when I said
the fated four words to you;
it would not have changed anything
but maybe
it would have all
made more sense
in the end,
and not left me asking
if there ever was
a colour inside of it all.