“What does that mean?” he asks.
“It means I love you impossibly much,” I reply.
“Oh,” he says. “It’s like you’re feeling purple.”
“If colors are feelings,” he explains, “then purple is the feeling that you love something or someone so much that you can’t ever get enough.”
An hour later, he nuzzles up to me again, this time letting me kiss his soft bubble cheeks and smell his little-boy smells — a mixture between beach air and grass stains — and follow it up with an enormous hug.
“You’re yummy,” he says.
“As are you,” I reply. “And you make everything purple.”
He smiles a shy yet impish little-boy smile, and I know that even if things turn red or green or blue (or black), I will always have the afternoon in which my son taught me what purple feels like.