The color, brown you loved.


You admired the color of her skin, the way it is as brown as the color of bournvita, it reminds you of the chocolate wafers you ate as a kid. Of how her skin is flawless; she always covers it under layers of cocoa butter cream. Every morning, you would watch her watch her wear your shirt over her short shorts, sometimes over the ripped jeans, the rumble of the morning traffic groaning outside. Then, it is typical of her, to look in the mirror, and wear her tomato red lipstick, shine her brown skin and face with coconut oil. 
 Her coffee would start to get cold, when she starts to talk, talk passionately about things she loved,with a cigarette between her fingers; the oversized mug of unfinished coffee next to her. You would watch how she throws her head back in laughter, her tight cornrows threatening to spill from their knots, and the sun starts to creep in, shinning on her skin, the brown color rich and seeming vibrant like you can feel and touch it, taste, it the way you do with your brown coffee, taking a sip in small quantities. It is so brown you imagine using a bit of it to color on your canvas.


It is raining, and the sound of the long lines of rain fall on the roof wakes you up, and you are watching her sleep. You are flicking your fingers on her skin that is peeling, she had started to apply a cream on her skin, and it is not coco butter, but it is making her skin look like those girls with skins the color of an overripe paw-paw. She has told you about how she wishes to pose in those Magazines, you had to be light to model their 'lingerie’, to be desirable, and to be every man’s dream, and you have had to be light to be pretty. 
'The color, brown I loved. You are pretty as brown-skinned’. You scrawl on a paper, before you leave.

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