005 :: orange

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I always loved watching her cook: the smells, sounds, sights of the knife, the ingredients, the oils.

"It's easy, really," she would say, her fingers deftly adjusting the onion to create exactly even mince. "You just have to care."

I cared about food, but she was passionate. I remembered the moment I realized I loved her for that passion, beyond admiring her skill. She'd been carefully sectioning and chopping a bell pepper, an orange one. The color of it made me stare, first at the vegetable, then at her hands, then at her face.

So beautiful, everything. I loved her.