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My Life In Colors 🎨

Life keeps its own color chart, and sometimes it reshuffles the palette the second I blink. Red is what stands closest. It is love, affection, trust, the steady pulse when I sit with people who truly know me. Red is not drama. It is warmth that lingers after the noise fades. Green is family, the place where breath drops deeper and shoulders finally relax. Green smells like fresh cut grass and soup left on low because someone had one more story to finish. Purple is for the friendships I like and lose without blame. They are confetti from a good night, still winking from a coat pocket in the morning. Black belongs to those who do not fit me or I do not fit them. Not a grudge, a clean frame that keeps the rest of me safe. Yellow is the quick hello to kind strangers who cross my path for a moment and move on again, a sunny greeting that needs no second scene, a brief ray across the kitchen floor. But white is different. White is the one person named hope, the maybe of return, the not quite forgotten. It is a small bright light in the heart that does not boast and does not beg. It simply stays. It says I am here even if you are gone. It trusts quietly, which is somehow braver than certainty. So I keep painting, every day, stroke by stroke. I wear red on my lips, green in my roots, purple up my sleeve for surprise, yellow in my hand for grace, black as a clear edge for my limits. And I carry white where it belongs, quiet and untouchable, a point at the center. Someone might return. Someone might not. What is certain is me, with all my colors. If life shakes the palette again, I will smile a little and grip the brush a little tighter.