Otters hold hands to represent love.

Swans pick a partner for life to show love.

Humans have various ways, however, sometimes even too complex for other humans to understand.

I felt the palm of his hand slap my cheek. I could feel the slick vibration run through my body like the pulse of a beating drum. My cheek is still red, but now as I stare into my mirror I can see the onterage of colors, featuring maroon and purple and even a bit of yellow. Yellow is a sign of healing. Maybe that is why it is my favorite color. It is a sign that good things will come, even after the worst. Yellow, although light, will always mask over dark colors no matter how much time it takes. Its a powerful color, but many people dont make that realisation.

I wipe away the tear that has already partially fallen down my face, accedentally rubbing my mark. I wince before my fingers can even graza over the whole mark.

Mark makes his way out of his room to kiss me goodbye. I flinch back, sitting on the very edge of my chair to aviod his lips. His pucker turns to a sour stare. Once he makes the realization, his gaze of love turns from that to a hard stare. Only hatred fills his heart now. Im not sure for me or himself. Sorrow is all that fills mine.

Months pass of repeated marks, foundation to mask until signs of yellow appear, and hiding the truth. Until finally, I am weak. I cannot withold the yellow any longer. There is no yellow in me left to heal. Each bruise is left permanent, which only makes mark all the more upset. Even my face shows how sorrowful I am.

I am dying. Is my realization of the night. And maybe I am. But there is no happiness left in me. No power. No yellow. I am sorrow, and sorrow is me.

I wish I died in love, however. Only then will the yellow restore me, and the laws of permanent surpass me and restore me to my past self. If only the sorrow would pass.