I could write about red… 

That’s hot and burning my tongue like hot food just arriving.

But you don't burn me, but instead bring the heat like a fire in a winter storm.

I could write about oranges… 

That’s too bright for eyes that have not been hurt and kill the new cells growing.

But you don’t bring me too bright light, instead, you bring me home with enough light.

I could write about yellow… 

That’s hot like the sun burning down on a hot summer's day. 

But you don’t burn me, instead, you burn the pool that cools me off on a hot summer's day. 

I could write about green… 

That’s overtaking like the plants in a jungle and constricting like the vines that take over. 

But you don’t constrict me like a ball python that constricts my new ideas or takes over me. 

I could write about blue… 

That’s consuming like looking out at the ocean and never seeing the end of it.

But you don’t consume my every idea but instead, you challenge me to think around the ocean.

So instead I could write about black…

That’s empty and blank, waiting for me to paint my every idea or thought that races through my mind like the ocean that is too big, or the food that is too hot, or the too bring colors that hurt my eyes, or the constricted conformity that is expected, or the numbers that form when I am just looking at nothing. 

Just like black, it is nothing, yet the comfort that it brings throughout is better than any parent who has ever loved or held a baby that is supposed to be loved.

So I choose to write about how black brings comfort, love, safety, and light at the end of a dark tunnel.