Lack of Colour

My girlfriend and I were walking one October afternoon. She was saying how the comment I left on her blog after that guy was pretty harsh. I probably shouldn’t be so aggressive when it comes to other guys, but I guess there’s just some insecurity there. Perhaps, it’s my innate territorial nature. Still, she was being coy and insinuating that she could be with any guy that she wanted. I felt like she was saying that she didn’t need me, at all. In a lot of ways, our relationship had been so rocky over the last year that there was probably some truth in these misgivings. Despite assurances, it was always in the back of my mind. I looked at her. She was beautiful, just like I remembered. Her dark hair had streaks of gold from the reflecting sun. It was so bright all the colors were washed out.

But, when the sun moved back behind a cloud and my black-and-white world came back into color, I couldn’t shake acute pressure inside my heart. This was not the right girl. This was not my girlfriend. It was the way the sun reflected from her face. The way the light created a gleam in her hair. It was the hair, most of all. It was the wrong color. It was dark, when it should be blonde.