I look up and see the assortment of various purple flowers sitting on my dear friend’s desk that someone very special to her has given her. I begin to type.
Purple.
My favorite color is purple. I know that hasn’t always been the case, but for practically as long as I can remember purple has been it. Before that I went through phases with colors. A trait of indecisiveness I still carry. But not with purple. Not anymore.
Purple can be royal, rich and exclusive. Empowering. Embodying.
Purple can be humble, faint and pastel. Inviting. Calming.
Purple reminds me of violets. A flower giving off one of my favorite scents. A perfume bottle on my dresser crafted perfectly in the visual aspect, relaying the essence of something so delicate and so beautiful.
My moms favorite color is purple. Purple reminds me of her. Purple reminds her of her mom. Purple was her favorite color too. And my dads. Isn’t it amazing, we’ve all shared this love. For something so deep yet so soft. It's beautiful actually. Purple is like a gift I have inherited.
Purple is a safe place to go. To be lost in.
I grew up with purple walls. I grew out of purple walls.
They were a fun purple. But too chaotic for a maturing taste.
Purple walls remain in other rooms. Different shades, different hues. Different feelings.
Hung amongst one purple wall, a picture I drew when I was four. It has never left that wall. A cherished possession of my mother’s.
Purple is magical. I reminisce on a constant theme of purple in holiday decorations back home. Particularly glittery ones. I find that I often used to focus in on peculiarly little details and make them so big with such small eyes.
They remain like this in my memories.
Like looking into a kaleidoscopic tunnel of golden purple glitter, all glistening and radiating in its lustrous iridescence.
An endless spectrum of shades. Light to dark and whatever you are feeling in between.
Purple can be warm. Purple can be cold.
Purple can be the summer and the winter, the fall and the spring.
Purple is the sky after the sun has kissed it goodnight.
Purple is watching the sunset over the lake after drinking frozen lemonade. With my bare feet on the coarse sand trying to skip pebbles into the reflection of the sky. And sometimes they really do look almost identical. The lake imitating the sky. An upside down world.
I’ve gone to that lake, and I’ve seen that purple sky countless times since I was born.
Purple creates. My favorite water color paints.
Purple can be what you want it to be. It can go where you want it to go, it can follow you.
Purple is experience. Old and new and never before.
Purple reminds me of coming home, to a sidewalk lined with lilac bushes. When they bloom the scent is more than noticeable. It’s breathtaking. We cut them for vases shortly before they fade away for another year.
Its funny because I too have purple flowers sitting on my desk. They are fake, I bought them for myself. But they will last as long as I would like them to.
And they will always help me find my way home when I am not there.
