Purple is the color of power. Purple is a color that defines royalty. It is equal parts red’s passion and blue’s sincerity. When I mark you with the palm of my hand, I mark you queen to my king. I serve and domineer you in the same breath. Your whimper and shudder as I color your body is a song you will only sing for me and no other. Your begging is not as subject but as peer.
In a lot of ways it takes strength to submit yourself so entirely.
It’s getting harder to discern whether I exist or not. I’m not having an existential crisis on a philosophical level but a personal one. Solitude has become a prison and the silence, the lack of acknowledgment is killing me slowly.
If I had one wish it would be to never have been diagnosed as depressed. I would have never known why I deal with these bouts of misery and wrestle with a crippling sadness. But I would have never realized I’ll never be able to enjoy life as others do.
I live life in a dull gray filter and knowing I’ll never know the vibrancy of greens or yellows makes me want to damn my eyes blind.
Leaving this world means you leave two things behind…people and things. Things won’t miss you, that stack of books won’t plead you come home, your rosary won’t long to hang from your neck. People will. That’s why those who plan to take their own lives should be introduced to as many people possible.