We stray from the stranger’s gaze

Not because
The eyes bare the soul

But because
They may see inside it

And cannot see its beauty

I had never liked the color blue
until they had tried to guess what my favorite color was.

"Blue," They had squealed, with such assurance and brightness
that I didn't want to say that it wasn't; that my favorite color was magenta.

But now
I can't stop seeing blues
wherever I go.

I see it in the deep hues of the ocean;
a dark blue abyss.
In the sky, both night and day.
I see bright hues in space; in stars and nebulas.

I see it in the birds with painted azure and teal feathers
who zip around above us, chittering to themselves;
and the flowers beneath our feet
with such fragile and intricate petals; colors as dark as midnight and as bright as aquamarine.

So many kinds of blue.
Navy, royal, cyan, turqoise.
Each has their own hidden charm, their own correlation with an object or feeling.

Now that I see so much blue, and what wonders it represents
and what emotions it brings,
I wonder why magenta had ever been my favorite.

When the world comes crashing in,
Washing over you like the tide;
When you have nothing left to win,
And want to give up on your fight.

When you can't see a spark of light,
After days of pouring rain;
When you keep on saying you're alright,
While your heart is forced to bane.

When you have no one to hold onto tight,
Because life has left on you its mark;
When you can't look on the bright side,
I will sit with you in the dark.

Baby if you call me at 4 am,
Too sad to even say hello,
I will listen to your sadness,
Until you fall asleep.