she spoke of bliss.

and while she spoke, i drifted in my own thoughts, her voice a blanket for my mental wanderings. but then she paused, abruptly, while taking a deep breath filled with palpable nostalgia. 

i asked her, what do you think is the color of bliss?

she looked at me, baffled and confused. does bliss have a color? she said, her face giving her away completely. giving away how superficially, how shallowly, she had taken my question. 

how rudimentary! i thought. how elementary! and, though i knew it would challenge her further with too much responsibility, i said, let’s put it like this: if bliss had a color… if… what would you say that color is?

she regarded me with frustration, caution.

and i bit my tongue while baulking at my own delusion. or was that sanctimoniousness?

or… was it simple naïveté?