Blue was your favorite. It was puddles you'd jump into, your candy wrapper, sparks at the bottom of your birthday cake and stars you'd wish to every night.
Come high school, it was given a value. You thought you understood Blue and all it could've offered.
You saw Blue everywhere, even in you, with mazes of blood swimming like sharks under your skin, but you never felt it until you met Her in a crowded room. Blue came off Her like sweat at Church. That night, her blue buzz burned your throat quicker than any shot of whiskey would.
You fell into Blue. It left its mark on you with skin so cold it burned and fingerprints digging into your shoulders like the weight of your world. Even when you were alone, you heard Blue whispering about her footprint on your back and scrapes from pavement hugging you harder than she ever would. But still, you relished her kisses falling over your bruises like a river of tears because it meant you were Hers, and she was yours.
While you grew up, Blue grew with you. You began to let go of things that were once your world; you didn't care for presents because the only thing you wished for was more of Her. The more time you spent with Her, the more you realized you didn't have puddles anymore. You had oceans swallowing you in a single sip. Your “blue days” weren't just sad, but weeks where every breath was bogged down by milky webs of crystal tears. Your room floor wasn't littered with candy wrappers, but with remnants of latex.
That didn't matter. She could've never tasted as sweet as candy.
Blue wasn't your shining star anymore, she was just the scar of a constellation left on your collarbone and hungover regret staining your neck the morning after. She lingered on the switch she always forgot to turn off on her way out and the aching cavity burning like fire between your thighs.
But you knew you were still Hers. Every time you cradled the crescent moon curve of her wrist, you saw your initials sitting where her veins should've been, stabbing her skin like needles.
Blue let you fall apart and crumble like wet chalk, but she picked up the pieces. You knew Blue was your fundamental wrong even if she kept telling you it was right.
Maybe you loved Blue because it broke you. Because your tears tasted sweeter than her sugary limbs ever would. Because Blue was all you saw when you were drowning, baptized in her holy blue waters. ▲