The Color That Left

The Color That Left

by Nepher Roux
Filed under: Paraspectra

I have no proof it existed, only that it’s missing.

It was a shade of violet—delicate, but not shy. Somewhere between thistle and bruised plum, but with a kind of internal glow. I remember it vividly. That’s what makes this so strange: it’s vivid, and it’s gone.

My grandmother’s coat was that color. She wore it to the pharmacy, to funerals, and once, improbably, to a beach. I used to trace the seams with my fingers and call it “stormflower.”
The rim of our candy dish had it too. In certain lights, it shimmered more mauve than purple, but it always pulled toward that lost hue.
The phone cord in my parents’ kitchen coiled itself into that color like a secret.

But now? Beige. Faded gray. Rose if I’m being generous. And not just faded with time—they’ve drifted away from the color. As if the hue itself was revoked.

I’ve looked for it. Paint chips, fabric swatches, digital palettes. I’ve typed in values that seem close and watched them betray me on screen.
Even descriptions fail—when I try to explain it, people offer lavender, aubergine, heliotrope. None of them are right. They’re loud about being colors. Mine was quieter. It had restraint.

I believe it was real, and that it has been erased—not from memory, but from the visible spectrum. Maybe the cones in our eyes recalibrated. Maybe the light that used to bounce off it now slips through us.

If this has happened to you—if you’ve lost a color—please write. Even if you can’t describe it. Especially if you can’t.