Crayons.

I was asked to describe you but I simply couldn’t. It wasn’t that you weren’t memorable enough. No, no. It wasn’t that. You were burned into my mind like an image on film. You were there and there was no escape from that fact, it was just that the words to do so were what escaped me. Being a writer, words were my friends; like crayons to a child, or acrylics to a painter. I knew all of the names, all of the luster, the texture, the color. But none of these colors seemed brilliant enough to do justice. I couldn’t simply paint a blue sky when you were a sunrise. I couldn’t draw a mountain when you were the entire landscape. You are the landscape. You are all around me.

Even now the words escape me.

That doesn’t happen.

I just don’t know.