Pink

  Sometimes you see the world in color. And I don't mean that you look at a red sweater and notice how very crimson it is, touched with ruby and kissed shyly by scarlet. I mean that you step outside and the world just is a color. It's in your mood, in the clouds, in the barely glimpsed smiles of those who walk past you.
  Yesterday, my world was pink. Pink like the last remnants of a setting sun, tinged with a hint of orange that brushed it with bashful fingers before retreating slowly back into the sky. Pink like the cotton candy you give to children that floats onto their fingers, fuzzes up their mouth, sticky sweet and altogether nothing but sugary air. Pink like the feeling you get when your heart knows everything is right and you're where you're supposed to be and you feel invincible and infinite and nothing can stop you because you're gonna give it your all because you have nothing to lose.
  That kind of pink.
  And when it's that kind of pink, your soul does a little hop and skip and jump and tumble. It rolls in the grass and hugs itself and promises to never let go. Your cheeks are rosy with the promises of the future and your toes tingle, filled with the compliments of friends.
  But that kind of pink holds just a tiny tinge of doubt too. For, as much as you try to persuade your head, you know that the world can never be that perfect and that somewhere there lurks a rumbling navy of grief or a gruesome blood-red anger.
  For right now though, the world is pink. And I'm alright with that.