Orange heart, because around here that is the official color of love: traffic barrels. You cannot drive eleven feet between April and November without passing a construction zone that has been "almost done" since your sophomore year, and honestly? We are into it. That is commitment. That is romance.
It also happens to be the exact shade of a basketball, which is the state religion, and the glow of a sunset dropping behind a cornfield while you eat a breaded pork tenderloin that hangs four inches off the bun like a manhole cover. Red hearts are for people who have never experienced four seasons in a single Tuesday. Orange hearts are for people who stuck around anyway.
Soft enough to live in, sturdy enough to survive the washing machine and whatever you spilled on it at the tailgate. Built from fabric that holds its shape, holds its color, and does not get weird and scratchy after a few wears. Wear it to the fair, wear it to the hardware store, wear it anywhere flat.
