You liked the color purple, so I used Google and found the code that would turn the background purple. The text was black or red, Your Little Corner of Hell, a place for your rants. You were edgy and listened to American Idiot so I listened to American Idiot (but everyone listened to American Idiot so no one noticed).
The color of your messages on AIM was purple, too. I remember the first time I used AIM, I mean really used it, we talked for what seemed like forever even though we barely knew each other. That’s what we did back then. Not just us, but we, as kids with broadband internet that did not tie up the phone lines. We sat on AIM for hours, talking.
You had a purple winter jacket and a lot of purple shirts and a purple bikini I only saw once. You wore a purple dress at our eighth grade graduation. You wore a blue dress to prom.
The last time we really spent any time together, you came to visit me in New York. My phone case was purple and had three wolves on it. While you slept, I argued with my girlfriend over the phone in a strained whisper. I wished the world was a little smaller.