Growing up, whenever I asked my mom what her favorite color was, it was always green. When I asked her why she never really had a good answer for me. For a while I thought it was because me and my brother’s eyes are green and so are hers. My favorite color growing up was purple, the same purple of the lilac tree in the backyard.

My  freshman year, my favorite color changed when I saw the most beautiful shade of blue that made everything else look dull. Even from across the table under the awkward fluorescent lights the blue was just as beautiful. As time went on I loved blue more and more, I loved the way the blue was brighter in the sun that felt like a clear lake on a warm summer's day. I loved the way the blue was just as beautiful in the moonlight, how the shadows cast across the blue couldn’t dim its beauty. The blue had the ability to swallow me whole. 

Then one day blue was no longer my favorite color. At least that’s what I tell myself. Whenever I see that shade of blue, their shade of blue, I feel like I can’t look away. Even though everything should pull me away from the blue, nothing has that kind of power. The color became comforting as it was all I knew for such a large portion of my life, tied to so many fond memories.

Although the person I knew that had these blue eyes had changed the color hadn’t. 

I search for a color that makes me feel the same way I am beginning to think it’s an impossible task. Because maybe it wasn’t just the blue of the eyes I loved so much, maybe– it was the person. 

So as much as I’d like to say my favorite color isn’t blue, the reality is that I will never find a color as magnificent as that blue. No color instantly makes me smile, no color could be traced back to so many good memories.  But there isn’t enough time or the right words that could describe this level of complexity surrounding my favorite color.

 Now if you were to ask me what my favorite color is… I'd probably say purple.