"I love you little bit purple!" she tells me with her head tucked under my chin and arms wrapped as far around as she can reach.
I do not know how or why she decided that colors would be the means by which she measures love. It has been that way almost since she learned to recognize them by name. Who am I to argue? It is not as though I have a better system to offer. No matter how wide I open my arms, how high I reach, how many kisses I dispense, I could never accurately describe or measure my love for her. Color seems as good of a way as any to quantify.
"I love you little bit orange." I tell her in return. "Yeah" she mumbles into my chest "and a whole lot green."