I never had a favorite color

I see you in my favorite color. I only know it is my favorite because I see you in it. Before you, the world had painted itself with the bright and the dark and the gloomy; with yellow and gray and blue, but never this color; never something so pure, something so soft. Soft. I forget my hardened ways, leave behind a path that only gave me hard-learned lessons. I know you won't, but if you cut me open, you will see the color now runs through my veins and resides in my bones. No, you didn't help my heart beat again. I did that for myself, I wouldn't march to someone else's tune anyway. But you see, you turned basic anatomy into something I could write letters about. Soft. Sacred. Spilling. The color now starts spilling from us into the harsh world around us. The world changes its ways, as if it feels too ashamed to be anything but gentle, as if it wishes to fit this color, be worthy of it.

This feeling doesn't feel like falling because there's always a drop at the end of that. Instead, it feels like landing. Soft. Safe. Smooth. You don't barge unannounced because I don't like people and you don't like trouble. You ease your way in and I let you because you aren't trouble, and certainly not just people. My happiness, my sadness, my plans, my thoughts, my days; No, you don't take them over. I can't give anyone else ownership of my space. But you buy a house next to mine, help me break down the walls, so we can create a bigger space. Secure. Sentimental. Soft. It's not how I see you or how you see me. It's how you are, how I wish to become, and how we wish everything else becomes.