Green Love

I would never write about how my chest burns with flames igniting my bones or how it penetrates through my skin or how my throat gets blocked by an impassable lump everytime I see my dad’s lonely, light brown, glossy eyes. I would never write about all the times I watched him travel around the empty house with his head down as if he was looking for something on the floor that he was never able to find. I would never write about all the times I wanted nothing more than to fix it and to tell him that he means more to me than my harsh words and bitter actions, that he was my hero but all I ever did was hurt him. I would never write about my dad’s dark red lips that have been stained with blood and burnt out by cigarettes. I would never write about the smoke he inhales and exhales and how it carves a hole into my chest everytime I smell the dark, musky, smoky breath of his. I would never write about his grey and black hair that is slowly becoming invisible. I would never write about the pounding anger in the pit of my stomach that bangs from the inside out on what feels like every organ I own. I would never write about the anger that fills me when I think about my bitterness towards him. I would never write about my dad's weak but large ears. I would never write about what those weak, large ears hear. I would never write about the mean words that fill his mind as they travel through the holes on his scratchy face. I would never write about what my dad feels inside his strong, lean, tall body. I would never write about what's underneath the white/red freckled skin that has patches of black hair spaced out around his body. I would never write about his heart and how it weakens every time an echo of one of my words pounds on it. I would never write about the sorrow or loss or pain he holds within him and never lets out, not even in the smallest creases or cracks on his body. I would never write about the first time I saw the reflection of his pain come down his thin cheeks, slowly and in the form of salty tears. I would never write about the time I sat in my bed crying about how much I missed my mom and her dark blonde hair and her green as emerald eyes,  in front of him, his glossy eyes staring at me as his arms were wrapped around my body. I would never write about the time he swallowed and I could almost feel how big and thick the lump in his throat was and how the sounds of a sharp scratch ran through my ears as he tried to swallow past that big lump. I would never write about how his hands were as cold as ice, like stones in a freezing river,  but still tried to comfort me and keep me warm. I would never write about how my bed felt nothing like home and how his words felt soothing but not soothing enough. I would never write about the way I made his happy white smile fade away into the emptiness and darkness of nothing. I would never write about how proud I make him. I would never write about how proud he is of me. I would never write about how much he loves me. I would never write about how he looks at me with his light brown, lonely eyes in awe. I would never write about his soft skinned, bony hands which allow his veins to pop out with colours of blue and purple and how they only ever clap for me. I would never write about how big is heart really is and how even though my words pound on it, it still beats with love and admiration. I would never write about how his whole life revolves around my sister and I. I would never write about how he would do anything for me. I would never write about his cold, lonely body that has been beaten down so many times by words but he still stands by my side every time I need him. I would never write about how much I love him because my love is painted in the color green. I would never write about that color. I hate that color.