I used to hate the color yellow.

I used to hate the color yellow.

I really did. I used to hate it.

The first time I started to like the color yellow, it was because of her. We had only been out on a few dates, and I didn’t know that she liked yellow. Really, I didn’t think of it one way or another. It was just another color to me. I liked greens, pinks, maybe purples. Pastels. Black. All my clothes were black. They still are.

She wore a yellow dress that day, with white stockings and cute yellow shoes. Her hair was blonde, almost yellow, and she stared up at me with big blue eyes as I tried not to look downwards at her cleavage. I wore a black shirt and black jeans, black shoes. We went to a party together. I met all of her coworkers, and she got too drunk. I didn’t drink, as much as I wanted to, and took care of her for the rest of the night. I had never felt closer to her.

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