purple was always mine.
marker stains on busy hands,
birthday balloons, beaded bracelets,
the crayon worn down first.

i said it was my favorite
without knowing why,
just that it made my heart full,
even when nothing else did.

then one day,
it showed up in your eyes.

not the color,
but the feeling.

the way you speak softly
when i’m unraveling.
the way you remember
what i forget to say out loud.

maybe that’s why i loved purple first.
so i’d know what to do with you.

so i wouldn’t be scared
of something that beautiful.