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