The transparency of skin is cool. Like, I'm pink because of blood. Why is pink considered a colour of softness and sweetness when it's a watery echo of violence, hurt, life, pain, and ultimately life force? Pink could just as easily be a marker of rage, or strength, or bloody sacrifice. To me, pink has an ethereal quality. It transcends its place within the body. It's not skin, because skin is ghostly see-through layers and yellowed, mottled pages and deep, rich browns. Pink is a calming of the blood and a shifting of perceptions. It's care and gift-wrap and ribbons in your hair. It's being and becoming a kind of softness that is impenetrable and exclusively yours.
I have a lot of colour associations, really. Pink is a meeting between harm and care. The place in the sky where the sun meets home.
This pink reminds me of sun-faded posters, and that's what I aspire to be. The sun fade of a grown up in a decades old t-shirt. The fade in a film photo. The comforting, unmatched fade of a prolonged and reliable base level of contentedness. That's my dearest wish and hope, to keep it and nurture it. That beautiful pink fade.