The Color That Chose Her

Some children paint on paper.

She paints on herself —

as if her little body is the only canvas bold enough

to hold the colors she carries inside.

There’s joy on her face,

but it’s not the loud, ordinary kind.

It’s the kind that rises naturally,

like sunlight deciding where to land.

The world behind her is blurred,

as if even the trees know

they are not the main story here.

And maybe that’s the truth:

every once in a while,

life gives you someone whose laughter

is so bright it makes everything else

step aside for a moment.

She looks upward,

eyes wide,

like she’s waiting for the sky

to tell her a secret.

Maybe it already has.

Maybe it whispered,

“The world is messy —

but it’s okay to meet it

with every color you have.”

And without understanding the words,

she understood the wisdom.

So she painted.

She smeared joy on her cheeks,

hope on her shoulders,

and wonder across her little heart

until she became the kind of masterpiece

that doesn’t hang on a wall…

…but runs, laughs,

and grows.

Because sometimes beauty isn’t something we create.

Sometimes it’s something that chooses us

long before we know how to name it.

***