Purple
- Haia
- Jun 22, 2020
- 2 min read
Updated: Mar 31, 2021
The upcoming posts will belong to a series I call “colors”
Every some day, a blog will be uploaded, that revolves around my perception towards a certain color. The concept here is relating words, music, and colors all together.
A little experiment won’t hurt nobody.
Purple
Purple is the sky
It’s the sky above the trees that flash past you as you’re running through a forest of dark green and brown
The sun peaks through those trees and sheds some light on an owl’s coat of white
It’s 5 am in the morning
You’re still running
Your legs shift fast
Your heart beat accelerates
Your feet crush the piles of dried leaves and broken twigs and branches that lay in residue from last night’s storm
It’s 6 degrees Celsius, but your body temperature is rising because your blood is warm.
You find it hard to breathe - the air is misty and thick
You stop and examine the distance you have taken so far
Purple is how cold your nose and fingers are when your neck throbs with warmth as beads of sweat drizzle down your spine
Your heart slackens and you smell lavender.
The same scent that excretes off cold, freshly washed white bedsheets
Your room is dark, but there’s light opaque through the black-out curtains of yours
“Alexa play lovely day by Bill Withers”
*Resume reading after the tape is heard*
Purple is a fast forward vhs tape of your mother preparing skewers by the river, along to a cassette playing in the background.
Three children aged 2, 4, and 6 splash around in the cold lake, but no one cares how cold the water is.
Your father flips the camera towards his face that is hidden by a huge pair of eyeglasses, and waves “hi” revealing his crooked teeth behind a thick black mustache.
Purple is clear
It is the screams of a lady in her hospital bed while drops of motherly sweat form on her forehead.
It is the birth of a newborn baby that weighs no more than 2 kilos of fragile bones & flesh.
With an empty book of sins, it cries as its veins trace its eyelids.
Purple.
The trembling arms of a mother that shiver as they hold this child. Their heart beats sync and five fingers wrap around one.
Purple is a trip
flashbacks of her dancing and singing in her high waist boyfriend jeans along the soft tunes of pink Floyd.
Her eyes look into yours as she gracefully holds up a dandelion, then blows it in your face exploding in laughter.
She is tall
She is beautiful
ecstatic, euphoric
Lots of geometry growing and shrinking in size
All sorts of colors and effects
Washed out in Purple
Like grape juice spilt on a yellow table cloth
drops of rain on a blue inked paper
Or choking to death
You can trace the blonde fuzz on her forearm that glow in golden under the purple sun
You follow the brown freckles on her shoulders until she asks you to “Play with her hair”
In admiration, you separate the light browns and blondes of highlight from spending too much time at the beach
“Do you like the beach?”
She asks in her one-piece bathing suit as she stands by the shore
The water’s white and blue
But It’s almost dawn, the sky slowly turns lilac
She looks at you and her hair shelters her face
She taps you on your arm and says
“you’re it”
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