Stained Glass Memories

I remember my life in colors. I read in flavors too, savoring the taste of some words, spitting out others as quick as I can. Some of the flavors fade over time, but colors never do. They remain bright and vivid, coming to my mind unbidden when a certain smell or sound stirs something within. Long after true memory fades.

Dark purple is the nights I spent crying, alone, with splashes of red here and there.

Gray is the hospital. All of them. Always.

Blackest despair when they said you needed brain surgery, my grandpa, my friend.

White and light pink the taste of rosewater, though it took years to put a name to the colors and the taste lurking in the back of my mind.

Brown is my grandma's house, Thanksgivings and trouble.

Black, gray, white, purple. You know who you are.

And a rainbow, for so many others.

Florida is yellow, home is blue, together they're family.

Green is the world. Outside, inside, up, down, left, right. Green is life, forever glowing faintly no matter how much I want to paint it over on purple nights. Always showing through. No matter what.