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Cream was the color of the shirt he wore when she closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. Threadbare from over-washing, the cotton was thin enough that he felt the warmth of her skin seeping though.  He sat there and watched her for a few long moments, reluctant to disturb her, determined not to shatter the moment.

She fit, so perfectly.

And he thought maybe...just maybe...

Blue is the color of shirt he wears as he sits in the same seminar in a different city and shifts in his seat a bit.  He wonders if he'll ever get used to wearing a suit. 

He wonders if he'll ever get used to sitting in a conference room without her right there beside him.

xoxoxo

White was the color of the shirt he wore last Halloween.  A simple costume, just three circles made out of black construction paper that she carefully cut out for him.  He gazed down at her as she sat at her desk, her tongue sticking out a bit as she concentrated.   He held his breath and felt her fingers almost burning his skin through the fabric as she pressed the circles to his torso, her right hand landing with a soft smack just over his heart. 

It seemed to him she lingered there just a little longer than she should have.   He thought about all that had transpired that day.  She said that she'd wanted him to stay - that she'd kill herself if he ever left her. 

And he thought maybe...just maybe...

Blue is the color of shirt he wears when he lifts a shot glass, over and over again, wanting to fit in and - if he's being honest - to simply forget for a little bit.  It's fresh from the cleaners, stiff and starched and when he wears it - it reminds him he's trying new things now.

xoxoxo

Cream was the color of the shirt he wore at Christmas - almost year ago, when he poured his heart out in a card and filled a teapot with memories.  She looked thrilled when she opened the box, but then easily traded it in for something different, something "better". Her willingness to part with his gift for any length of time had him rethinking the message he'd written.  A sigh of relief escaped when he'd been able to slip the card from the box and into his back pocket.

But her ulitmate delight in his "bonus" gifts, the smile she wore on her face had him wondering later that night if he'd actually made a mistake in not letting her read it.

And he thought maybe...just maybe...

Blue is the color of the shirt he wears in September - when the lights are dimmed and he's playing video games - during working hours no less.  He can feel a new set of eyes on him as he heads for the door.   He pulls an imaginary pin - tosses an imaginary grenade and wonders briefly if trying to move on won't eventually blow up in his face too. 

xoxoxo

White was the color of the shirt he wore under a dark sweater on a cool evening in May.  Even though he'd lost all his chips to her in poker he felt unbelievably lucky.  Before he could stop himself he put all his cards on the table once more.   Her reaction might have been what he'd expected - but not at all what he'd wanted to hear.

Unable to give up so easily he tried again shortly after.  When he took her in his arms he'd felt vindicated.  When she pulled him close and pressed her lips to his he knew instantly that he'd been right.  But when she stood there, in her blue dress and told him differently he had no other choice but to fold - finally.  He had no other choice but to simply walk away. 

No maybe about it. Not this time.  Though she hadn't even uttered a word, to him it sounded just like never...

xoxoxo 

He doesn't like to think about it - more accurately he won't let himself but if he did he'd probably make the connection.  He thinks he's done enough to change, he thinks he's been able to put it all behind him. 

He thinks he has but he hasn't.  Everything about her has manifested itself into a sudden preference for a certain color. 

He's so determined that it doesn't occur to him that morning when he slips on his new blue shirt and his new dark suit and ties his new tie and tries to convince himself he's completely moved on.  He doesn't make the connection even as he sits in his car and takes that same route he swore he'd never take again. 

When the door opens and he sees her face all he can think of is how she looked the last time he'd seen her here, with a soft blue light cast over her face, her eyes stunned, her smile sweet.  All he can see is the image of her in that dress.  All he can see is that damn color blue. 

Being back just strengthens his resolve - or so he tells himself.  He smiles when his cell phone rings, and when he hears her say never again he makes a choice. 

He's decides to move on - to take the steps necessary to fill this old place with new memories.

It's a smart decision and it's a good theory.  But when it's tested it doesn't quite hold up.

Because on that day - a week later -  when he decides to take a definite stand, when he decides to let the cameras in on all things "new" in his life - the shirt he wears is blue.  

xoxoxo

Blue is also the color of the sweater she wears that day.  As she sits on the couch, listening to banjo music and pig latin lyrics sung in a falsetto voice she stares at the back of his head and smiles widely. 

And - for the first time in a long while - she thinks...maybe...

...just maybe...