Just what my mom would say, slightly pink like the cheeks of a blushing, young girl. That tinge of pink when she tries to catch her breath after swooning over some young lass who gives her, just a bit of glance!
That kind of pink when the heart sees something that makes it beat irregularly and queerly. Pink that is hardly there but there!
That kind of pink that does not brag nor is imposing to the senses. Almost pink in the manner of one whose ways are impeccably just right and natural, like the veins on a petal of baby lips while the senses have not yet awaken.
Those toes that are pink as I imagine Ziva Estelle's.
A faceted pink that is almost hardly there, faintly and subtly like the sky on some rare days, like the ones I witnessed in Bantayan Island.
Maria would always say to me, wear pink. It suits you. It is healthy. And so will I, without being noticed.
That kind of pink when the heart sees something that makes it beat irregularly and queerly. Pink that is hardly there but there!
That kind of pink that does not brag nor is imposing to the senses. Almost pink in the manner of one whose ways are impeccably just right and natural, like the veins on a petal of baby lips while the senses have not yet awaken.
Those toes that are pink as I imagine Ziva Estelle's.
A faceted pink that is almost hardly there, faintly and subtly like the sky on some rare days, like the ones I witnessed in Bantayan Island.
Maria would always say to me, wear pink. It suits you. It is healthy. And so will I, without being noticed.
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