Blue is the way your irises bloomed,
Even though they were closer to purple.
If I could savor the smells of vanilla and autumn and home
That would be blue.
Blue is the particular way rain fell
Dancing on your doorstep.
The spring wind in my hair or
The last page of a book–
That would be blue. But
Blue is when your smile trickled away
When you shut the door
Never Again, Blue.
Blue are my tears, blotching the ink
On the promises you swore to keep.
Blue is the guilt I felt on nights
Like this
Blue is when I come across your photographs,
Frames fractured
Lined on my kitchen counter.
Blue is my heart when I dissolve
Into oblivion, you aren’t here with me but
Blue is still my favorite love song
On the radio you sent for my 18th birthday.
Blue are the 40 cent stamps
From the letters you wrote, unopened
And Blue is all I know
It’s how and why
And all the ways
I miss you.
Photography by Adrien Ledoux on Unsplash
