When they met, she was drowning in blue. The small speckles and flecks of fuchsia she once had, long ago worn away. She met Him and fuchsia once again began to appear. The two of them talked about all things fuchsia. They discussed in depth their mutual interest in fuchsia, how she needed it in her world, how He would help her realize her fuchsia dreams, how He had been looking for a fuchsia enthusiast for a very long time.
As time passed the two of them were awash in it. She bathed her world in this color. She was so full of fuchsia that it touched nearly everyone she came in contact with. People with a burgeoning interest in fuchsia came to her to ask how she had acquired so much for herself. They wanted to know where they could find a color so pure. They wanted what she had. She explained that the mix was not hers. He created this hue. It was very special and anyone trying would be unlikely to create it. She would give the formula to a select few, hoping they would achieve something close, realizing they probably would not, because only she had Him.
One day He came to her, speaking about shades of blue. She listened because it was Him, because this is what they did together. They spoke about everything. Talk of this other color made her uncomfortable. She listened, thinking “We can talk about this all day long. There is no room in my life for anything but fuchsia.”
She knew all about blue. It was tiresome, exhausting, it grated on her nerves. She had actively pushed blue from her life when she met Him, gradually scouring it from all surfaces. Tiny, stubborn bits that could not be reached, still peeked out from the corners. She glared at them frequently, resenting their existence in her fuchsia world.
After several conversations, He presented her with a tiny blue thread and asked her to wear it prominently. “Weave it through your hair” He said “Let others see that you can have more than one color.”
She did so, not because she wanted to but because it was Him and she treasured His happiness above her own. Wearing this insignificant thing created a stir. Whispers about the thread she wore spread. People did not understand how her dedication to fuchsia had slipped. Maybe she was not a true fuchsia enthusiast after all.
He presented her with progressively larger items – a broach, a belt, a hat, boots, a coat, a dress – urging her to shop on her own, to find new styles, new objects to spread the color throughout her life. The larger and more visible the item, the more ripples there were. People, who were never quite sure what to make of her, now took a couple of steps back when she passed. The whispers became fully audible and people began asking her about the blue, accusatory, “What’s up with all the blue? Are you still going to wear fuchsia? Make up your mind.”
She began to enjoy wearing blue. She found that certain shades of fuchsia worked quite nicely with some shades of blue. She looked forward to mixing it up and He was joyful in ways she had never seen.
Spurred on by His joy, she wore less and less fuchsia. She began to dream in blue – blue rooms, blue landscapes, blue worlds. Her personal writings spoke of blue often. When she was lost in thought, she was often mentally combining shades of blue, seeking a richness of hue that would be indelible. She began splashing blue onto those who asked for her special shade. Seeing her color on their skin was wonderful, unlike anything she had ever known. She now craves a time when she can coat Him with her tonality, marking Him as hers, as if she has dipped Him in a vat of her blue ink.
She is still unsettled. She sees less and less fuchsia. She has passing thoughts of fuchsia throughout the day and wonders if she will ever wear it again. She is comforted that, for a brief time, fuchsia and blue existed side-by-side in her life. The mix of colors, the ratios, will surely shift. There will be blue periods, there will be fuchsia periods. She imagines, she fervently hopes, she will always have both.