**Journal entry** PURPLE I didn’t like purple for the longest time. Not because I truly disliked the color… but because someone who flipped my whole world upside down loved it. And when you’re young—when you don’t know what to do with pain or disappointment or emotional messiness—you pick something easy to blame. Something small. Harmless. Like a color Purple felt like them. And I didn’t want to feel them. So I told myself I hated it. I made that my rebellion. My line in the sand. “If I don’t like purple, I’m not like them. I’m not _with_ them. I’ve moved on.” But it wasn’t really about purple. It was about grief. Grieving the version of them I needed but didn’t get. Grieving the version of me that trusted them completely. I thought if I liked purple again, it meant I forgave them too soon. Or still cared. Or was letting them back in. But I was wrong. I like lavender now. Looking at it makes me feel calm. Like I can breathe. Like it’s safe to soften. Safe to stop fighting ghosts. And the truth is—maybe they were just doing their best. Maybe they were hurting too, and didn’t know how to show up without bleeding on me. That doesn’t excuse it. But it makes it… human. And if they had to heal, then I guess I did too. So here I am, wearing purple again. Not for them. Not because of them. But because it’s mine now. And maybe healing is just that Taking back the things we once gave away in fear and letting them mean something new.