The Magic Of Purple

Where healing begins in the soft, purple shadows between breaking and becoming.

The Magic of Purple


In the magic of purple
I found the shadow of peace—
not loud, not holy,
just a quiet ache
that finally stopped screaming.


It lived in the in-between,
where bruises turn beautiful
and broken things
don’t have to explain themselves.


I wore it like dusk on my skin,
that soft violet hush,
where grief loosens its grip
and lets you breathe
without asking why.


There, in that dim glow,
I wasn’t healing—
not fully, not yet—
but I wasn’t bleeding either.


And for once,
that was enough.