Do you remember the huge boxes of Crayolas everyone wanted in elementary school? I'm sure you do. Even if you didn't have one, you wanted one. I know I did. Until, I think, the third or fourth grade the 64 pack was the one to have. It had all the best colors. Sure, there were the originals, red, blue, yellow, and all that, but it also had the fancy colors. You remember them. Burnt sienna, jungle green, cerulean blue. See, those memories are flowing back.

Now that you remember, what was your favorite? Aside from black, which is the one crayon that was so short, it didn't have a point any longer, and the sleeve was in shreds? Mine was cerulean blue. In my books, this color ruled the world. I always questioned what a cerulean meant, but to this day have never taken the two seconds on google to figure it out. I realize now that I don't even care. The sense of wonder that crayon gave me, the creativity and beauty (as much as a 7 year-old's drawings are beautiful), is worth the unknown for once in my life. I don't need to know. I don't want to know.

The downside to cerulean blue being the best color, and there was a downside, was that the worst color in the whole box looked so similar to my beloved cerulean that I would sometimes grab it, thinking that it was cerulean, and when I started coloring the most awful color ever to grace a Crayola crayon would ruin my masterpiece. Cornflower blue, you know who you are. You are, to this day, the most vile crayon hiding out in my beloved 64 pack of Crayolas. You existed to spite me. I always believed that, even if I didn't know the words. 

Cornflower, even though you were my most reviled color, I never considered getting rid of you. I never considered tossing you out in to the trash (which would have easily been done). That would have left a hole in my collection. My family would have been missing a piece.