Violet light? That’s the thing they use in movies
Chrissy tapped me on the shoulder and pointed at the screen
where a character of a film of an adaptation of a novel
walks in a determined fashion
spares a glance for another
accompanied by music that creeps into my bones
and is more memorable in ten years time than my
then best friend’s name
violet that bleeds to blue in an act of royal assent
that made me clutch my papers until ripples formed
cutting my skin in delightful arcs of shocking pink
a hue that Chrissy hated
a shade my mother shunned
leaving a scar I was too afraid to touch
some legacy for a heart that beat in the margins
and a head that followed the flock
ten years later Chrissy blends with Charlie and Chloe
when familiar notes start to thrum through my bones
the scar ruptures and my very marrow
cascades in a river of violet light across the carpeted floor
blue mist swirls and soaks my socks
pink hurtles by my closed lids
all because of a brush of hands
a decade in the making
