Sunshine

I remember when you bought expensive paint just because you liked its name. Yellow sunshine, you said. It reminds me of you.

How can I be yellow sunshine? Me, with my raised pink scars across my wrists and on my thighs, me, with my hair a dark mane of despair, me, with my eyes that burn with fury and hurtfulness and jealousy and possessiveness and every fault that a lover can have - me, yellow sunshine?

What do you mean? I asked.

Yellow sunshine, for your laugh, he said.