i have a tendency to think in terms of colors-

the milk tea that you like at chun shui tang tastes periwinkle, meanwhile, ballade pour adeline, which i love so much, sounds lavender. and the california rolls i had last night could've stood to taste a little more green.

there's this one line of a shel silverstein (who i absolutely, positively adore) poem in where the sidewalk ends that goes "and all the colors i am inside have not been invented yet." and i remember even as a little girl, when i read that, it made so much sense to me. one of those moments where you say to your heart, "oh! so that's what you were trying to tell me."

anyway, i was reading breaking dawn today and in those first moments bella awakens as a vampire, stephenie meyer writes "i could see each color of the rainbow in the white light, and, at the very edge of the spectrum, an eighth color i had no name for." so, even though it was not quite as elegant or life-changing as reading shel silverstein, it got me thinking of that poem i read so many years ago and again in shanghai at the beginning of this summer.

and then, i was googling it, trying to remember the rest of it and i stumbled across this quote by robert fulghum, who i now can't help but love-

we could learn a lot from crayons; some are sharp, some are pretty, some are dull, while others bright, some have weird names, but they all have learned to live together in the same box.

maybe we should develop a crayola bomb as our next secret weapon. a happiness weapon. a beauty bomb. and every time a crisis developed, we would launch one. it would explode high in the air - explode softly - and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air. floating down to earth - boxes of crayolas. and we wouldn't go cheap, either - not little boxes of eight. boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in. with silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest. and people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with imagination.

isn't that incredibly beautiful? and then i got thinking about the boxes of sixty four and the boxes of eight. and what if they were separate worlds. and how, they are actually separate worlds and there are people who live in a sixty four box and others who live in a box of eight. and like that eighth color bella was referring to, we don't need names for things that don't exist. and if an eight-er and a sixty-four-er were to ever, and they probably frequently do, meet, or happen to be standing on a street corner together viewing the world, they'd see it so differently.