Yellow

He came into my life in a burst of yellow; yellow raincoat, yellow floppy hat, yellow bag on his shoulder. We caught the same train. From under brown eyelashes, I stared at his yellow form for six stops. At one point, the movement of the train car jostled us together but we both looked away – yellow.

I saw him next on a bright day; yellow sunlight on yellow hair, a yellow coat trailing as he ran for our train. I held the door open. Our eyes met, then fell, then met again; his were warm honey with flints of yellow. I moved to let him pass, brushing my shoulder against his but said nothing – yellow.

We met again on the platform, waiting for the yellow line train. My eyes were on the departures screen so I did not see the yellow man, only his yellow blur as he tripped over his feet and into my own. Suddenly, I was covered in thick, wet, yellow. Splatters of paint fell onto the platform as the yellow man moved into my line of sight, face apologetic as he lifted the now empty pain can.

“You yellowed me,” was all I could think to say.


 

Photo Challenge # 95: January 12, 2016

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Yellow Orchids by Liz West CC BY 2.0