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.