Bright orange leaves descend in the fall.
It’s mid-October when I meet you.
All I can think about is how quiet
you are, but you listen to me as I
go on and on about the color purple,
and how I don’t like change.
It doesn’t take long for me to notice a change
in both the weather of November and you.
You’ve been happier and far less quiet,
as you talk about your favorite colors: purple,
blue, and pink, the same as mine, and I
can relate when you confess you love the fall.
Like everything else, fall
cannot last forever, and I
better than anyone know that change
can be good when it’s simple and quiet.
But I feel nothing but pain as I watch you
and him plant kisses that are violent and purple.
I cry as I examine the swollen purple
bruises circling your eyes and stay quiet
while you let salty globs of water fall
down your face as you talk about change.
So I squeeze your hand tightly, knowing all I
can do is lovingly and sincerely hug you.
Time passes, and I get an invitation from you
to a dance where we’ve both agreed to wear purple.
Yet again, the weather has experienced change.
We share a dance under the cool skies of fall,
But I stop, mesmerized by your body, and stay quiet.
I can feel something special between you and I.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize that I
haven’t mistaken my feelings for you.
But now my own tears begin to fall,
Once I learn you have not felt such a change.
The flower in my grasp, wilted and purple,
continues to fade black as I stand there, broken and quiet.
The world continues to change, and it’s once again fall.
Every time I see purple I get quiet
because it always reminds me of you and I.