You are the color that we call the sea, the sadness in our souls, the sky, sometimes the color of skin and deprived, circulating blood.
But as we know, the sea is water and when we hold it in our hands it is clear. And if the sky were really a strong hue of you, could I still see through?
The sadness in our souls is invisible, too. A smiling face even when a loved one passes or a marriage topples to the ground like a tree in the forest.
You represent coolness when red is hot. But what if red weren’t there at all?
You need the sea beds, the massive congregation of water molecules and the lights and darks of the day and dusk to encourage that sensation of you, blue that is your marriage to the sea.
You demand the unfettered space of open air to fill the sky with yourself and backdrop the white, fluffy vapor that is a cloud–or is it really white at all? You make me ask such things, blue.
You give me space to think. And maybe that’s why those invisible feelings of a soul going through a trial are so-named you. Because if we didn’t have the space you give, we wouldn’t even think about the sadness and all of its relatives that visit in these times we feel, well, you.
And if we didn’t have that space, we’d just move on like the smallest of animals are stereotyped to do–but I’m not even sure they really do, blue.
So here we are, you and me, you in me. Blue eyes are a testament to your illusion and a reminder to all who have ever loved me that what they see is a whole lot less than what they bargained to get. And just like the sky, and the sea and the connectedness of humanity and the loop of our veins into red, hot arteries and back again, it is endless, circular, reaching out to what we call heaven because we can’t quite grasp the infinite. But you do, blue.
You even meet it at the doorstep where the atmosphere turns black, or at least that’s what it looks like in star wars and the news footage of men on the moon and satellites and space stations and failed or successful mars missions. Yes, you discuss the solitude of the black heights and depths of space every day, blue.
Because right next door to you is the start of the infinite. It’s reflected in the water and the air, the human circulatory system and my tablecloth from India, the music that touches the place and springs from the place in the human heart that remembers the condition that’s named after you, blue.