Blue Is Just A Colour
It’s in his eyes Sometimes stormy, sometimes  vacant, always intense. Never warm. Sometimes that blue is clear like glass - a mirror, because he can see right through anyone. In his favourite shirt The veins under my skin - giving life. It would be so easy for him to take away. In so many feelings: sadness, heartbreak, loss, but ruthlessness - cold and dark. Funny, for a man who doesn’t seem to know what any of these are. But is more than capable of causing them. In blue flashing lights cutting through darkness and sirens wailing. Those sometimes make him tense. I can’t help wonder which they’re for - the police that may find him? An ambulance from something he’s done? It’s the colour of midnight - a time he will love me. And leave me. Blue is my favourite colour now. It’s suffocating. It’s not breathable and yet... sometimes it burns hotter than anything else. From ice white to summer sunshine glittering across the Pacific. He is all these things - and none of them. Blue is only a colour - but it holds me. It ensnares me. It engulfs me and I can’t breathe. With him or without him. It will leave me broken. This I know. When the ashes die down, there will be nothing left. He will haunt me. Even when he is gone. Even when I am shattered into a million tiny blue pieces he will still inhabit all of them. He isn’t just in my head and heart, my veins... my very soul... Blue is just a colour. It can’t hurt me. And yet it does.
