In my book of colors, green is a default. 

When asked what my favorite color is, I’ve always responded with a sound and affirmative “green.” 

I have never had any reasoning behind why green won my favoritism—until you showed me. Not just by the defaulted standpoint, but the beauty, the tranquility—the delicacy. 

Within every sight of green, I see you. 

The emerald-colored lip balm brushing against my lips gives me a slideshow of memories—memories of the good, the bad, and the unfamilar. 

The wavering aroma of mint takes me back to when we were strangers—when we didn’t know what we were doing or how we were doing it. When the world was changing, when our lives were altered dramatically, the mint leaves withering on your tree were a constant. 

Opening up a pack of mint chewing gum swallows me whole. The bouquet of mint leaves swithers into my system until it uppercuts my heart with no regret. The aura of mint overwhelms me with the valuable, sacred moments that I eternally embrace but, nonetheless, leaves me with remorse over those critical moments. It’s taking a toll on my mentality—it’s taking a toll, confusing, and obliterating my emotions towards you.

Whatever I interpreted green as pre-you, I envy but regret it; I miss the simplicity behind the lush stain of a color. The purity of it was so crystal clear, so modest, so transparent. Now, whether it’s the lingering mint of chapstick or stick of fifty-cent priced gum, it’s bitter instead of minty.

It floods back the moments we shared; however, I’ve started to rebuild. I’ve started to rebuild the houses that have been tarnished from the water flow of memories. I’ve started to rebuild with higher, taller, heftier buildings that now stand stronger than they did before the mint leaf epidemic struck.

Now, I’ll deny; green has taken a step back from the throne. Not because of all the remembrance of you but because of its jump from default to extreme gravity. I’ll keep my eyes open for a new number-one while I attempt to suffocate your mint leaves until they’re shriveled up into actuality.

But to my acrimony, your leaves are somehow, someway, flourishing into my intellect—it’s like your seeds are immortally here to reside threading millions and millions of roots with my heart as the hub. 

So to you, my dear mint leaf associate, you hold more recollection of my life than you suppose.