And where did you come from, Color Blue? Was your mother the feeling of vastness so indescribable that you appeared to represent it. Your father, the suggestion of forever that is not actually forever as your uncle Black knows it to be, but rather you came to be the space without echoes that we can only just barely touch. We sometimes brush the tip of your tiniest toe and wonder, was that it just now? Did I just feel it? And that is how we began to know you, Color Blue, so big and vague and uncertain that you cannot help but to make us sad. You are what we name the music of being alone in the night without a home, without even feeling at home in our own bodies, because we are so slowly lost it almost doesn’t feel right to be sad, so we call it the Blues.
I once dreamt of a boy whose eyes melted into the ocean blue, so I dove in and swam through. And there was that same feeling, of floating in something so big and deep and undefined that I was poppyseed small, lost in the ocean of him.
Blue, you are the hardest color to know, the one we eat least frequently but the one we see most often. For half of the day you are half of our world, yet we are practically strangers.