Colour of a Storm

I think of him, a thunder of regret floods my throat. Trust given, taken and tromped upon. I think of us, existing in half portions. Glass clear I stood, unaware of the shatter of half-truths. Decidedly elephant gray, his lies loom large, passively yet powerful, Clouding our lives, seeping out, an unstoppable fog. I think of him, a book without words, no black nor white, just a cover. Forgiveness far from his narrow lips. I think of my heart, rainbow potential, waiting for the certainty of sunrise, And the healing rain.