I think purple is the loveliest color . . .
. . . because it is the opposite of pink. I hate pink. (It is the opposite socially, not aesthetically.)
I love purple—I could march on it for miles. It is strong and solid and supportive, like a ship that might steward me elsewhere. There is something about its spacial aspects, wrapped around the mind like a cashmere blanket that is immediately accessible and mystically endless. A blanket that helps me sleep at night.
I love purple—it is the color I see when I close my eyes.
All sorts of shapes and colors. Swimming in the infinite, warm sea of possibility and purple. I’ve heard these are actually blood vessels. But “sea” sounds better because it is endless and unique and evokes the sea. You cannot misstep with sea metaphors. Even though it is usually blue.
Purple is memories, rich and textured. Floating around, waiting to be noticed and seen.
Purple is hardly a muse, in the shapes it chooses, it is art itself.
I love purple – it is the color of things ripening, becoming ready. Of flowers, especially the lovely clematis. Of hands held up to the sunset. Of sore toes and my lover’s lips when he’s had a whiskey. Whiskey feels very yellow to me. But the color of his lips, that is a beautiful purple. And I’m used to it now. The mundane, ordinary, borderline obnoxious things in which love lies and lives.
Even in death, or in the suggestion of death – purple brings love and life. I wish I could color more things purple, as a mark of respect, love.
I’m partial to purple but picky.
It must be red-toned. Not blue toned. Get your blue tones out of here, you lizard! There is a subtle, passionate difference, and it comes down to heat and warmth and love. Red-toned purple has more love, and it’s the purple I want to surround me always.
There is a bit of purple in everything I do. There always has been. Brought into what I do for comfort, peace, contentment or placed there by some external guardian who knows my affinity for it. Usually a loved one.
Can one love a color so much? That is not the question. The question is how can one not, when so much of this life is color?
Is it the best color? To me of course, but truthfully, well…what is truth anyway?
(I also like orange. But don’t tell purple. Purple is also the color of angry.)
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