Definition no. 15
Happiness is purple.
Raw and smooth. It glides softly and courts the golden traces of brush on my painting. It’s cunning and sweet. It goes places. Unimaginable places. It kisses the fingers rushing on the canvas. It shoothes the fervour of pink on top of the fingers. It settles the thirst of dark green. It cannot exist on its own. It would be too flat common and everyday-like. This purple is fizzy and it giggles, it’s vivid and madly in love: it makes frantic love to the yellow drop which becomes a line… lines. It swirls around it, entangles in it, turns it upside down and then it leaves it and lets it fly. Then it hides behind brown and tosses glacy pearls on its way. It waits for a fraction of a second for my palms to meet them…ticklish with a burst of laughter! Happiness is purple.