Chestnut is a warm feeling, that’s something they both agreed on. For him, it meant the warm chocolate pastries he always ate on mornings in early spring. But to her, chestnut meant his hair, a desire she could never fulfill but inexplicably still pursues.
This was something they’d been doing since their childhoods, matching obscure colours to oddly specific yet necessary feelings. Dark, thundering grey was the gnawing feeling when outside on a chilly and damp autumn day, that you’re stuck in a vicious cycle of yearning for and denying something greater, that there’s more to the World behind what you’re doing, and that you’ll never see it and saffron-yellow meant a summer evening in nature with friends,where you get the sudden urge to wander off while the smell of smoke lingers and pricks in your nose. There were many more colours, some significantly more intricate than others. Some of them, they’d experienced together in different ways, like betraying a friend for the sake of your grandfather’s satisfaction (Alice blue). Each colour was something they’d both experienced individually, but shared the same emotional connection with. Now, they were working out the definition of chestnut. Neither really agreed with “Cleaning up after a dog that you do not own”, and “having your mom find lice in your hair on the second day of school” wouldn’t work because she was a blonde. That chestnut was a warm feeling, she’d agreed with only hesitantly. She loved him in all the wrong ways, and he loved her not. Truly, chestnut was the coldest of feelings.
edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 9/26/2016