White was the morning she walked away,
barefoot on cold tiles, carrying silence.
The sky had no color that day—
only the hush of something ending.
White was the page I never gave her,
the one that held everything I couldn’t say.
My hands trembled with the weight of it—
not the words,
but the years between us.
White is the silence that hums at dusk,
when the sky forgets its colors
and everything feels like remembering.
White is the dress on her wedding day
She left with winter in her eyes,
Walking down the isle, and I stood still,
watching her vanish into the light.
White is the flame I hold at night,
soft with sorrow, strong with light.
Not empty now, but full instead—
of hope, and love, and words unsaid.
Erennwrites
Starting a Colour Series
White
Will write all the colours.
