and waited for the sunrise
Secretly he read
her mysterious creature
and whispered her curves down
and let them play as colours on a white sheet
All she had was the sunrise
that painted the sky and also made a light stroke
over her
yellow, red, blue, black
All he had was brushes, colours,
and a white stage without actors
The sun coloured the days of her life
she gave life
to him
Yet so distant
even though every little detail
every singel lock of hair
stood written down as lines
waiting to be said
And he
knew what they meant
the day she glanced at him
with colourless eyes
before the sun had got to
give her life
~Ingvild Gregersen
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