Her Favorite Color

Hi guys!

So I posted about this previously, but I’ve decided to take a piece I wrote in my writing class this semester and turn it into a short film. A super short film. This past Sunday was shoot and we were able to get all of the shots in one day, which was a huge relief. And as of last night post production has officially begun! I’m pretty excited about it, and some very awesome stills have come out of it already. The piece is pretty edgy, being that it’s about an unhealthy, romantic relationship between two girls. So far, though, I’ve gotten quite a bit of interest from friends and faculty here at school as well as at home who are intrigued to see where I’m going to go with this concept. Little do they know it’s an adventure for me too.

But I figured now that post has begun and this project is well on its way to completion I’d share some of it with you all! So here’s the piece, more to come. (:

Her Favorite Color

“But you’re in Vermont.”

“What does that matter?”

I’ve had this discussion far too many times to count.

At this point it was just reciting an old script.

“Six hours is a long way.”

“Do you trust me?”

I knew just as well how much of a bad idea this conversation was.

It never ended well when it was brought up.

But it was always brought up.

“Why should I?”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

 I never understood long distance, but I like to humor the concept.

So did she, regardless of how much she’d deny it.

It’s when I left that the accusations flew and the arguments worsened.

 “Because you can’t handle responsibility.”

“I’m in college!”

“Fuck you.”

I never did anything wrong, but regardless I guess I did.

I didn’t call her every night.

I didn’t text her every morning.

I stopped asking about every move she made.

So she stopped spewing accusations.

She stopped the daily messages.

She stopped calling me hers.

We were doomed from the start.

A humored concept, a good idea.

She wanted to try new things.

I just wanted to try her.

They always tell you to take the risk,

But they never tell you what to do when it fails.

I could still tell you the color of her eyes.

But I’ve long since forgotten her favorite color.

“I still miss you sometimes, you know.”

“I’m not the one who left.”

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