When you were younger
And someone would ask you
What your favorite color was
You would answer excitedly, right?
Your small mind
Thought it was amazing,
That someone wanted to learn
A little detail about you.
I sit and I think
About those who are ready to give up.
Who are ready to end their life.
Had anyone asked them
Their favorite color?
Or favorite food,
Biggest fear,
Deepest secret?
Maybe that's why they feel
Oh so hopeless.
No one wanted to know
The small details that made them up,
So why not just take those details
With them to the grave?
I can't help but ponder on,
How many people hidden
Under piles of dirt
Or within vases,
Have their favorites
Unknown?
How many of them passed,
Without exposing their true fear?
How many had fallen,
Keeping their secrets hidden?
This is all but a simple question,
But it's more than that.
It's a sign that you care.
Its a sign that you think,
That the person is worth getting to know.
And now I wonder,
What is your favorite color?
