If Your Favorite Color Was Purple...

If your favorite color’s purple,

then I would hold my breath

until my lips turned the same hue—

bruised,

starved,

begging.

Just to see if you'd notice

I was dying quietly for you.

If you wanted to hide the rain clouds,

I’d burn—

slow,

deliberate—

until my smoke stitched the sky shut,

choking the sun,

so your storms could sleep beneath my suffering.

If your cold hands ever craved warmth,

I’d set fire to my ribs

just to cup your fingers in my chest.

Let my heart be the kindling

you didn’t know you needed.

If your loneliness had edges,

I’d fold myself into its corners,

make a home in your shadows

and call it heaven,

even as it hollowed me out.

If silence was your language,

I’d carve out my voice

and place it at your feet—

a tribute of everything I once was,

so you’d never have to hear me ask

for more than what you were willing to give.

If your indecision was a knife,

I'd steady your hand.

Pull the blade across my chest and say,

“Here—cut where you please.”

Just to know you touched me,

even if it was to wound.

If loving you meant forgetting myself,

I’d leave a trail of memory scraps

through every place we never went,

so that one day

you might find them

and understand what I gave up

just to feel you near.

And if you ever loved me—

just once—

let it be now,

before I dissolve completely.

Because the truth is—

I never needed to survive your love.

I just needed to taste it

before it ended me.