She is not white, or black. Those are just colors. She isn’t native American. She isn’t English or Scottish or German. No, but yet, she is ALL OF THESE.

Her skin is beautifully dark olive, her long hair as black as coal. Her eyes are icy blue and conceal wisdom far beyond her young years. And her heart is gold and often broken. These, too, are colors. And they say a lot about her character and personality.


She wonders why there is so much hate in the world…wonders why they treat her differently just because she doesn’t fit the mold.

She cries and my heart breaks with hers because her tears are like the melted ice that brings forth new life in spring. No color is worse than that.

what colors

She has isolated herself to all but a few who love her so much they simply pursue her presence. She loves back, but mostly from a distance. Like a wildflower in a field unseen and hidden, making everything around her even more beautiful, simply by being there.

I don’t care for titles at all.

But I love her.

With every breath of life in me to love with. And I want her to see the good, the happy, the love, the right, the future, and so much more.

There is a song that reminds me of her…

“If you could only see how blue her eyes can be when she says…

when she says she loves me.” {“If You Could Only See” by Emerson Hart}

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