INDIGO

She arrives colored like night remembering itself, a hush of stars pressed into skin. Indigo is not a shade it is a frequency. A knowing passed hand to hand through ancestors who spoke in rhythm and breath. She carries galaxies in her gaze, spirals where prayers once lived, symbols drawn before language learned how to ask. Indigo listens. Indigo remembers. Marked by sky and soil, she stands between worlds where silence hums, and intuition speaks first. Indigo does not seek the light. She is the place where light learns how to become meaning.