Red is the color I turned when Mark Adams first kissed me on the cheek. I’d said I most certainly did not like him, and he’d said he could prove I was lying. He said he knew a special test. By changing colors I failed the test, and he couldn’t stop laughing.

Orange was the color of our fingertips when we’d finished a family-sized bag of Cheetos. We’d stayed up all night watching a Star Wars movie marathon. Mark couldn’t believe that I’d never seen one of George Lucas’ movies before. We weren’t allowed to eat popcorn because he had lost his popcorn- popping privileges. He didn’t tell me how, he just said that it was a dark day in the Adams household.

Yellow daffodils were pushing up from the ground when he took me to the park, saying we must “celebrate spring.” He’d brought with him an enormous red kite; the kind that has a tail with ribbons tied to it. As we were sitting in the grass, he undid the sun colored ribbon is my dark brown hair, adding it onto the tail of the kite. We ran all around the park that day to keep our kite flying, the ribbons waving.

Green was the color of Mark’s face after we rode the biggest roller coaster in the amusement park. He’s terribly afraid of them, but he rode it anyway, trying to prove that he was “man enough” I guess. When the ride was over, he dashed to the nearest trash can, emptying his stomach. So much for his “manhood”. I couldn’t stop laughing. That is, until he said that if I didn’t stop, he’d kiss me on the mouth. Barf kiss: gross.

Blue envelopes tied up with string in a shoe box under my bed. These are all of the love letters Mark left in my locker, signed, “Your secret admirer, Mark”. I’d told him that signing his name defeated the whole purpose of being a secret admirer, but he’d said he didn’t care.

Indigo ink on the palm of his hand where he’d written “I love you”. I kissed his palm, and all of his fingers, before settling on his mouth.

Violet roses I received one week before our anniversary. We never exchange gifts on that day. He’d given me a dozen violet roses, saying that red ones were overdone. “Besides,” he’d added, “violet is the color of passion” He waggled his eyebrows, and I laughed, hitting him lightly on the arm.

The colors of the rainbow are the ties that bring Mark and I together. Growing ever stronger, they portray our love.