I color you pink, like our cheeks after we’ve been running, jumping, laughing
I color you blue, like the sunny skies that seem to surround us whenever we’re together, what I see in your eyes
I color you green, like the grass in Central Park, in our backyards, in the parks we’ve played
I color you orange, orange you glad I didn’t say banana?
I color you turquoise and purple and silver and glitter, like the unicorns and princess dresses and slime we’ve loved over the years
I color you with my big, broad brush of friendship
Layer upon layer, year after year our mural is a reckless, silly, beautiful mess
You and I the only ones knowing the brick that lies beneath
Tagged: Brooklyn, childhood, Color Factory, friendship, Manhattan, New York City, travel
If I lived in a gingerbread house every day would be sugar-coated, the smell of cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger would waft through the house filling my soul and satisfying my taste buds and my neighbors would all have impeccable taste creating a healthy competition in seasonal landscaping. Each night when I would sleep the skies would fill with gum drops and each morning when I would wake fresh snow would fall. I would believe that everything is possible, that dreams come true and all mankind is inherently good because I live in a gingerbread house, after all. 
God bless Oliver, a boy with wit, silliness and sincerity. Observant and inquisitive, noticing all the details that make him thoughtful and make him worry.