It’s the color you wipe from his lips after he’s kissed off your lipstick. When he whispers how he wants to take you, it’s the color of your blushing skin. When you make love, it’s the color left behind when he grips your thigh. When he comes home smelling of another, it’s the color of his eyes. When he confesses what he’s done, it’s the color of your hands after picking up the pieces of the glass you threw at his head. It’s the color of the taillights he sees when you leave. When you open the door every day for the next month, it’s the color of the flowers on the porch. When you finally say yes to another first date, it’s the color of your dress. It’s not the color you feel when you answer the door, but it is the fading color of the world when he sees you get in the car and drive away.