Purple Dreams (Short Version)
Two lines—
positively excited.
Dreaming of
purple worlds.
Purple bleeds
into red.
_________________________
Purple Dreams (Long Version)
Two lines—
positively excited.
Dreaming of purple worlds—
soft,
hopeful,
filled with possibilities.
A color you could build a future on.
I painted everything with it—
walls,
clothes,
a life.
We gave you names
before you had a body
I could hold.
You didn’t make me a mom
that day—
but a mom of three
I would have been.
And when Marceline
came unexpectedly our way,
she would have made it four.
But you didn’t stay.
—
I swear,
if there had been a door,
I would have found it.
I would have found you.
Ripped you from the edge
of nothing
and stitched you whole.
Isn’t that
what this body is for?
So why did it
let you go?
—
That night I danced—
my body speaking in riddles:
ache,
weight,
omens I mistook for growth.
Unknowing
I was already
losing you.
—
They told me at the hospital
in careful voices.
But I had already learned it
in the red.
I should have stayed home.
God—why did I go?
Why did I dance,
why didn’t I know?
No.
No.
That voice isn’t mine.
That voice isn't true.
It doesn’t belong
in this body
that almost made you.
—
You were here.
You were here.
And then…
you weren’t.
May 5
May 5, 2026 at 10:29 PM UTC
Purple Dreams (Short Version)
Two lines—
positively excited.
Dreaming of
purple worlds.
Purple bleeds
into red.
_________________________
Purple Dreams (Long Version)
Two lines—
positively excited.
Dreaming of purple worlds—
soft,
hopeful,
filled with possibilities.
A color you could build a future on.
I painted everything with it—
walls,
clothes,
a life.
We gave you names
before you had a body
I could hold.
You didn’t make me a mom
that day—
but a mom of three
I would have been.
And when Marceline
came unexpectedly our way,
she would have made it four.
But you didn’t stay.
—
I swear,
if there had been a door,
I would have found it.
I would have found you.
Ripped you from the edge
of nothing
and stitched you whole.
Isn’t that
what this body is for?
So why did it
let you go?
—
That night I danced—
my body speaking in riddles:
ache,
weight,
omens I mistook for growth.
Unknowing
I was already
losing you.
—
They told me at the hospital
in careful voices.
But I had already learned it
in the red.
I should have stayed home.
God—why did I go?
Why did I dance,
why didn’t I know?
No.
No.
That voice isn’t mine.
That voice isn't true.
It doesn’t belong
in this body
that almost made you.
—
You were here.
You were here.
And then…
you weren’t.
“Purple Dreams” is about miscarriage—the quiet silence left in place of a voice we’ll never hear, a body we’ll never hold, a life we’ll never watch grow.
While everyone else has moved on, I remain—still teary-eyed, still wishing I could hold them. It’s a quiet heartbreak, being the only one who still carries it. I don’t think I’ll ever put it down.
