she was

"orange"

you are imperfect like the world

every one you see

but do not meet

is a regret

they add up fast

you pass one by

a pocket of orange

a paragon of beauty

experience your dying pet

words clash when you speak them

but silence feeds the guilt

and when you are grey

you still will wish

looking back

you had said hi

to the one who smiled at you

in the library

stood a footstep away

for easily a minute

before exiting

your life

forever

many enter

most leave

few stay

[see prequel: "yellow"]