"I love you"

Three words.

Typed out in secrecy,

shouted out across a roiling mass of people.

"I love you"

sunshine flowing from your fingertips to your dear one with a single touch.

A smile like the cool mist of the dawn.

"I love you"

tossed out like flyers for a product or

guarded and kept like precious jewels for the one.

"I love you"

a choking whisper as terrible as quicksand,

sucking you down and numbing you

or a laughing call, causing lightning tendrils of happiness to

rush through your veins, making you blush

"I love you"

remembered and hated from the one who betrayed you

or cherished from those who have gone on before you

"I love you"

only words

"I love you"

with a kiss

with a note

with a wink

with a smile

"I love you"

with blood

with tears

with sickness

with death

I love you

more than you will ever know,

forever and always,

into eternity.

Red is

the quick press of lips on your burning cheek

the taste of a dissolving peppermint

the pervasive, wafting smell of a rose

the passionate words of a man to his bride

this savoring of special pleasures

Orange is

the rough rubber of a ball

the sweetness of citrus fruit flowing over your tongue

the salty, pungent scent of sweat running down your face

the crackling of searing flames

this energy flowing through our veins

Yellow is

the weight of gold in your pocket

the taste of an ice-cold lemonade on a summer's day

the smell of sunflowers, swaying in the breeze

the merry tinkling of bells fastened to a sleigh

this lighthearted playfulness in our spirits

Green is

the ridged lines of a husk of corn

the slimy taste of avocado

the grassy smell of a just mown lawn

the croaking of frogs in the night

this quiet joy in simply living

Blue is

the stillness of a frozen lake

the cool water running down a parched throat

the salt air of the ocean, flying across the waves

the sound of silence, of utter tranquility

this peacefulness through trials and triumphs

Purple is

the glide of velvet across your palms

the taste of champagne in a crystal glass

the smell of an ancient, dusty book

the sweet music of sincere compliments

this relishing of precious things

Pink is

the warm blush that comes over your face when you touch the one you love

the taste of cotton candy from the carnival

the smell of your mother

the popping of a bubble gum balloon

this child-like delight in little things

Brown is

your fingers tracing the grooves of a tree trunk

the piping hot slice of buttered bread for breakfast

the smell of freshly plowed dirt

the singing of birds at the dawning of the day

this satisfaction in things that never change

Grey is

the water-smoothed skipping stone you hurl into the pond

the taste of fried mushrooms, steaming on your plate

the smell of gasoline rushing through your rumbling engines

the wailing wind, ever calling at your door

this questioning of who we were, who we are, and who we are meant to be

White is 

the crisp sheets pulled up to your shoulders as you drift off to sleep

the spoonfuls of freezing ice cream melting on your tongue

the sharp, vinegary smell of your freshly cleaned floor

the swish of a wedding dress against the aisle

this rare innocence and purity

Black is

the iron barrel of a pistol pressed against your heart

the taste of unspent tears catching in the back of your throat

the choking smell of your home burning

the last soft breath of the one so dear to your heart

this despair, this anguish in powerlessness, in death

I raise the vanquishers, the masters, the destroyers of the future.

My every action, my every word will shape this tiny person for good or for ill.

I never dreamed it would be this way.

How fragile they are!

Those soft, chubby hands may one day curl into a fist and damage another without cause.

Those sparkling blue eyes may one day harden into indifference, inflicting injustice to the innocent.

Those gap-toothed grins may one day transform into an sneer, wafting out words of poison and death to those who cry "Mercy!"

So little time.

What will they become?

The strangest thing about my cat...

is that she's not actually my cat. Venus Diana is my little sister's cat. But, when I sit down on our porch in the cold dawn hours, she sidles up to my leg and purrs as if I am her favorite person in the world. 

As I sip my steaming cup of coffee, she somehow appears in my lap, radiating warmth into my shivering body. Once she's settled, she slits her eyes to the rising sun and lies like a marble statue, save for the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

When the sun has cleared the horizon, and I am compelled to leave this tiny pocket of stillness, she leaps off my lap and bats playfully at my feet as I step over the threshold of the door.

Maybe I do not really own this cat--

but I think she would disagree.