“So this is it?” I asked. “This is the place you go to escape everything.”

“How does it feel to know you belong?” she whispered. “The only place I’ve ever belonged is right here, and there’s no one else this high above the city. Look, all I’m saying is, it gets lonely sometimes to think the closest I’ve come to companionship since the car accident is a bird on that rooftop over there. But you… you have people around you all the time. You still have people who care. How does it feel?”

“I don’t know how to describe it, but that’s alright. You talk too much.”

“We don’t talk enough.”

“As a couple? Maybe that’s because we’re not a couple,” I replied.

“As a species we don’t talk enough,” she clarified, making what I would never admit was a reasonable argument. “Why do you think people like me always have to end up so alone? That’s why I’m asking what it feels like to belong somewhere. I imagine it feels like the color purple tastes.”

“You mean the book The Color Purple? Cause I did not know pages effect human taste buds.”

“No- I just mean purple. It’s a color, commonly found between red and blue. Typically used to showcase bisexuality.” I shook my head. She had more where that came from.

Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash

“Often associated with royalty/nobility, luxury, power, or ambition. Represents meanings of wealth, extravagance, creativity, wisdom, dignity, grandeur, devotion, pride, mystery, independence, and magic, sometimes even peace as well. Purple combines the calm stability of blue and the fierce energy of red. Ringing a bell?” Finally, I acquiesced that it did in fact seem familiar when she described it like that.

“Because I think the sense of belonging that I fantasize about must feel like that color tastes- it’s the sweetest color in the rainbow, you know.” Her voice grew mellower.


“There’s the divine sweetness, the rich full dive into a triple chocolate cake. And sometimes you have your softer sweetnesses, the delicate tease of a macron. Or a hint of a dash, something in a full bodied creation like a pie. See what I mean? Purple is just a sweet color. I think sitting up here alone all the time is a soft blue, and hiding away up here is a morning yellow. But knowing that the place you belong has other people there sometimes! That must be purple right?

“It’s not a color, it’s just nice.” It was her turn to shake her head.

Thanks for reading this short story. It is the adapted version of a scene from one of the novels I’m currently working on, so I thought I’d share it with you since it’s been awhile since I published my last short story. I hope you enjoyed it and let me know your thoughts. For more prose like this, check out my other pieces, starting with these:


I write poetry, prose, and personal pieces. All images are mine unless indicated otherwise. Feel free to leave feedback on my work anytime; I hope you enjoy.

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