she was wearing purple when he saw her. it was her corporate skin; the regalia of the very thing that was suffocating her. she had become a prisoner of this place. trapped. begging for space, while she sold their goods and lived in their city. she was not a part of their program, only a victim of its trap.

at night she screams silently into her pillow. it has become her only recourse. she wishes she could go back to sleep but once you are awake, it’s hard to forget what you’ve seen, where you’ve been and what you’ve felt.

it’s late when she gets home and her temples pound. she tosses her purple blouse to the floor, happy to be free from it. she is alone with herself now–even though he is there with her. he’s hanging on her every word desperately wanting to be sitting inside her thoughts and understanding each one.

“you look beautiful in purple”, he said and she smiled as he kissed her forehead.