Violet is an island within that needs to be nourished. It’s the sweetness in the softness of a fig. The strength in the taste of garlic and red onions. The addictive bitterness of an unknown fruit extracted gently by an old man at the market. It’s in tea brewed from purple flowers bought wrapped in paper that has already been written on. It’s the ultimate cure, the perfect scent.
Today I went to the shore to see the Iles from there. Just where I met the water at that exact spot was a purple flower part buried in the sand. I sat down by my hand was a small shell heart with violet at its core. Violet ebbs and flows it oscillates. It’s under my skin and as the colour of my skin changes so in away has violet.