Chromatic Melding

They told me I was made of bone and blood and barely-contained desire.

But they forgot to mention the colours.

——

The pink in my hips wasn’t anger, but forgotten rhythm. Once caged, now curled like a sleeping cat nestled in my pelvis. There she lives, purring madly when I let go.

Blue had been hibernating in my throat. Not the bright blue of sky or the glorious pastel blue of the Gulf Racing livery, but the ancient blue of the deep, old sea. The kind of blue that knows pressure, silence, and only reveals itself when you’re far away from shore.

Then there’s purple. Holy hell, did I ever miss purple. I gasped with relief when lavender and violet braided through my muscles and joints, slipping into every movement. 

And rose gold… rose gold never touched me, but hovered overhead, just out of reach.

Until the night I stopped waiting for permission to glow. That’s when sweet rosiness surged through the soles of my feet.

——

The colours began to melt, flowing through me slowly, like honey, sticky with memory, hot with ache. Red kissed blue and turned to luscious violet. Rose gold met purple and deepened into a rich burgundy flame that licked the inside of my ribs.

There was no music, and yet I danced.

The rhythm came from the chroma inside me.

Pink poured down my legs with each step. I bent backward and purple spooled from my chest. I whispered, and the air turned blue. I turned off the lights and in the darkness shimmered that secret, holy colour you can only see when the world dissolves.

The colour of being fully alive.

——

Eventually, the colours stopped moving.

They didn’t fade or flee. They chose their places. Pink curled through my hips like velvet ribbon. Blue slid down my spine, cool and dense, pooling at my feet. A halo of purple floats around my neck. Rose gold throbs in my chest like a second heart.

I stand barefoot in a garden I didn’t know existed, a garden made of colour. 

And when I close my eyes, the colours don’t vanish.

They bloom within me. 

This is what it means to live a life of colour.

And once you’ve lived there—
you never go back to the ash.

With love from the forest,

~ Alexander

P.S. I realize I haven’t properly introduced you to the Velvet Telegram. I’ll tend to that soon, but in the meantime… The latest story-meets-confession-meets-guide is something I never in a million years thought I’d find myself writing, but here we are:

I didn’t mean to find this place.

Energetic metamorphosis and integration wasn’t on my 2025 bingo card. I wasn’t questing for enlightenment. I certainly wasn’t hunting for divine masculinity.

I was on a different mission: To travel back in time and tend to a heartbreak I never let myself feel, process, or accept had even happened at all.

As I cracked the bones and dug into the marrow of my old heartbreak, I stumbled ass-backwards into the most wonderful transformation of my life.

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