For something as simple as one might envision love to be, there seems to be an abundant number of definitions in the dictionary.
At a recent speech tournament there was a young woman who had the audience close their eyes and think about their perception of the word "love" as a color.
As one might suspect the immediate color that I believe came to most minds was the color red.
There was not just a single color that came to my mind, nor was it just a fleeting image of a color.
Yes, there was red.
Mostly there was a vortex of swirling, sharp black, with flecks of crimson red swimming within the shards of black that cut the edges of my mind.
This sudden tornado of feeling did not help my already unsteady nerves.
On the long ride home I found myself trying to figure out why in the world I had such a strong reaction to such a simple request.
All I was asked to do was envision the word "love" as a color.
There is no use trying to deny that I have troubles, and that's putting it very nicely, with letting people into my life.
Why is it that when I think of love I am consumed with irrational fear?
Most girls my age are engaged in relationships, planning their imaginary weddings, and picturing their lives 10 years from now.
There are very few people I truly love outside of my immediate family.
I could probably count them on one hand actually.
To some that may sound horrible, but I have a terrible time of putting things kindly.
Honesty is my course of action.
Honesty....
Maybe that will be my next topic of discussion.
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