My grandma would bake a cake for my birthday every year when I was younger. On one of those birthdays, I had decided that brown would be my favorite color. But as I got older it became more than just liking her chocolate cake. It also became about loving my skin. Loving what, where, and who I come from. Seeing black love, beauty, and innocence.

To wear something means you can take it off, discard it. But to be made of something means it is forever a part of you and who you are.

Community, Kinship, Limerence, Wealth, Innocence, Warmth, Nostalgia, Hope, Boyhood.

I love the way brown skin pairs against the bright red fireworks, or the gradients of green from the canopies above.