Blue is so sexy, so morbid without showing face, so mature, so cool. Woven pleasure with the thread of restraint. Come into my blue. It is a privilege to come into my blue. Words certainly do.

There is the old argument of the written word, some believe it brings memory, others say it sterilizes it. Has a written sentence ever returned me to a memory? I remember red. Red was the only thing that could hold the intensity of my interest as a child.

To this day God speaks to me in Red. Say 'Red' and i will follow. Say 'Red' and i will buy. Red things on the roadmap of my life. As a child, give me any other color and i would be inconsolable. Red for love, Red for Christmas.

I was well behaved, bright and intelligent until my parents made me wear a green Safari suit. I went shopping with them the Christmases that followed and would wear the red right there at the store, all the way home, Red. My special favorite thing.

I once cracked my skull on asphalt and panicked as people rushed to me and calmed when i saw the Red cool stream that gushed, ah, it was just you Red. So in the arms of strangers i could go to sleep. I believed that in the whole world the color only belonged to me.

Yet when magic would come to me, it would be yellow. A tiny yellow star i plucked from the ground. So incandescent, so yolk. 'I love yellow' declared a lover once. 'It's like hello and goodbye at the same time'.

I understood her logic, but the idea of finding pleasure in yellow was alien to me. I could only find irritation in my history of yellow; the yellow of a Piriton pill, the yellow of certain ill-fated moons and of course, the yellow of vomit. The color always seemed sickly to me.

There are certain cafes in the world with glossy yellow walls, just the right shade. There is a certain importance you feel when you find yourself in such rooms of high yellow, yes there is something special, if panicky about it.

There is the intimacy of hysteria in The Yellow Paper walls of Charlotte Perkins Gilman and there was the magic, the wonder of finding it incandescent in a tiny flower my 7 year old mind believed to be a lone star fallen from the sky,

Then there is the yellow of the sun.

Yellow is older than any of us. Perhaps this is why it seems to know us so well. Psychiatrists prescribe it to stimulate dying minds. Such a sentient color. Such a polite color. A 'hello' and a 'goodbye' all at once.