I have this idea that love is brown. Everybody thinks that love is bright red or fiery pink or twinkles like the sun on water, and I think I’m learning that it doesn’t. Love is earth and grit and having a short fuse at the end of a long day. Love is wrestling and working, pushing and pulling. Love is tilling the field.

There are days – maybe moments. There are flashes, snapshots, when love burns red, when it shines like diamonds. But mostly it’s the color of dirt, the color of the ground that holds you. Love is safe and dependable, a steady beat.

I think love is brown, like the colors of our skin.

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