Will You Be My Purple? — A Poem Wrapped In Ache, Softness, and Unspoken Devotion

 Will You Be My Purple?

— A Love Poem of Depth, Devotion, and the Quiet Between Colors

Will you be my purple?
Not red, the way anger stains the air,
Nor blue, like the silence after goodbye,
But that tender middle ground—
Where the burning and the breaking become one,
And the sky exhales a softer kind of ache.

Will you be the in-between?
The hush between thunder and rainfall,
The breath before I say I love you,
The space between reaching and retreating,
Where love doesn’t scream,
But stays.

Will you be the dusk in my chaos?
The moment when the sun gives in,
Not in defeat,
But in grace—
Letting go, gently,
Only to let another light rise on the other side.

You see, purple is not a color, my love.
It’s a feeling.
It’s every time I miss you
And still believe you’ll find your way back.
It’s every word I never said
Because I felt you’d understand without them.

Purple is holding hands in silence,
It’s your name caught in my throat
When I’m too proud to cry,
And too broken not to.

Will you be the bruise I wear with pride?
The reminder that I once loved deeply,
Fearlessly, even if it hurt.
Even if I bled in the process.

Because purple is born from pain—
Red blood and blue tears.
Yet somehow it’s the most royal of all,
The color of depth, of soul,
Of those who love with their entire being.

Will you be my contradiction?
My storm and my calm,
My chaos and my compass.
The ache I choose,
The wound I kiss,
The longing I turn into poetry.

Will you be the color I see
When I close my eyes and think of home?
Not a place.
Not a time.
But a person. You.

Because if you’re my purple,
Then I’ll be your sky—
Fading, rising, breaking, blooming—
Just to hold you.

So tell me, love,
Will you be my purple?
Not perfect.
Not promised.
Just true.