a color a day

color is not decoration. it's information. it tells you something is happening, something has changed, something wants to be noticed. i spent a week standing next to six colors, one at a time, and letting each one say what it had to say.

red

the thread was coiled loosely, like it had just been set down mid-sentence. red is the color of showing up — of being seen even when it costs something. i stood next to it and tried to have the same energy. i'm not sure i managed it.

orange

they were waiting to be sent. i didn't know what was inside them and that felt like the most interesting thing about them. orange is the color of something opening before you're ready — a door, a season, a version of yourself you weren't sure about yet.

yellow

they were scattered, not arranged. yellow is brave in a quiet way — it just shows up bright and doesn't make a big deal of it. there were a lot of them. i didn't know which one to pick up first. i stood there for a while, which felt right.

green

they were all different heights, none of them finished. green is the color of being allowed to grow — of taking up space slowly, patiently, without rushing. i looked at them for a long time. they didn't ask anything back.

blue

the tape had been laid down in irregular lines, crossing over itself, making something that wasn't quite a shape. blue is the color of depth — of things carried quietly, of finally exhaling after holding something in for too long. i stood in the middle of it and it felt like being held.

violet

it had been crumpled and smoothed and crumpled again, which gave it a particular kind of softness. violet is the color of everything that came before and everything still possible. i didn't want to leave. it felt like the end of something good.

six colors. one week. i don't think i understood any of them fully until i stood next to them and stopped trying to explain what they meant.