The soul has a faithful unconscious interpreter in the eyes.

You think it’s funny when you ask me my favorite color and I give you three options because I can never choose, because it varies on the day, or because my mood dictates what I find pretty that day.

The question drips from your lips like honey and I can’t quite find the words to describe my real favorite color.

It’s a humble color, not forceful or piercing as a crisp light blue can tend to come across as. It’s a strong color, but gentle like the breath of the wind that kisses the back of my neck and send shivers down my spine. It’s not a rich color like smooth, chocolate brown, but it’s a satisfying color.

Most of all it’s warm. Welcoming. Like your hugs, but you would laugh if I told you that.

Have you ever seen a ruby and admired the flames that seem to smolder just below the surface? Or have you ever held an emerald and wondered at the smooth coolness that beckons from behind the hexagonal screen?  The warmth of the moon pooling in your iris while the October breeze ruffles under your jacket – that’s how my favorite color makes me feel.

How could ever choose between the two?

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