When somebody asks me how to describe a specific color, I quickly become tongue tied.
Not because its a hard question, or because I couldn't explain. More so because the way she sees the color may be vastly different from the way I see it.
Colors are Christmas lights tangled around our memories that we turn on every so often to catch a glimpse of something that we can't seem to forget. Thankfully when we don't want to, and unfortunately when we do.
Like when she asked me for blue, I always think of you and the way you looked deep into my eyes and said "I always remember your favorite color is the blue that they sky turns right before it rains", or the iridescent waves crashing over my head as I finally chose to relinquish the weight I carry to the air cradling me in its arms before allowing me to sink into the heart of an old acquaintance that I seemed to forget to cherish.
How about green? I automatically think of my best friends tiny car in Japan that we packed such joy, warmth, laughter, love inside. Or the fields I used to roam, giggling, ready to deliver the basket with my heart inside. The tree I climbed with courage and wondered if he even noticed that I wasn't afraid, not only to reach the top to see everything the way he saw it, but to be so close next to him in such a tight, private place, where the only eyes on me wore his. Sometimes its just that simple, when I think of green I think of his eyes.
She doesn't even have to ask yellow, because its already a part of me. My curly locks that changed during the summer season to a brighter hue, like the way I felt when he finally intertwined his hand in mine, and his body against mine, and eventually his heart. And surprisingly even when he let go of my hand, and and walked away with out turning around to wave goodbye, I still thought of yellow, because it wasn't about him the entire time, it was about me. I am yellow.
Red. The color of my first bruised knee, my first bruised ego, my first bruised heart. The color I felt when I finally decided to let myself fall down on my knees in desperation hoping for something worth holding onto. The color I felt when my mother held me in her arms, despite my unprepossessing appearance, and wept a deep, tragic, sorrowful thing that needed to come out. The red when he finally put his boots down on solid ground after years on end in a war zone. The red that I finally decided is part of me whether I like it or not.
Mostly all the colors that I am inside haven't been created on this earth yet.
But whenever somebody asks me my favorite color, I can never explain.
I can't put a name to it yet, because I don't know it yet.
But its a color up in Heaven describing the tremendous joy He has put in my life.
A color He created, I'm slowly discovering, that is just for me.
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