Blue was mine first.
Oceans wore it loudly,
flowers borrowed it gently,
and I kept collecting it everywhere I went,
in paint, in skies, in the corner of my eye.
It was my favorite kind of calm,
my favorite kind of spark,
my favorite constant.
Then you appeared,
quiet and unannounced,
and suddenly the color had competition.
Not because you wore blue,
but because you embodied the parts of it
that I could never describe,
the joy that hits too hard,
and the sadness that refuses to explain itself.
Now every shade I love feels a little lesser
and a little truer
all at once.
Blue still belongs to me,
but it keeps pointing toward you,
and I haven’t figured out
if that’s beautiful
or if it hurts.
Jan 20
Jan 20, 2026 at 2:53 AM UTC
Blue was mine first.
Oceans wore it loudly,
flowers borrowed it gently,
and I kept collecting it everywhere I went,
in paint, in skies, in the corner of my eye.
It was my favorite kind of calm,
my favorite kind of spark,
my favorite constant.
Then you appeared,
quiet and unannounced,
and suddenly the color had competition.
Not because you wore blue,
but because you embodied the parts of it
that I could never describe,
the joy that hits too hard,
and the sadness that refuses to explain itself.
Now every shade I love feels a little lesser
and a little truer
all at once.
Blue still belongs to me,
but it keeps pointing toward you,
and I haven’t figured out
if that’s beautiful
or if it hurts.
about how a color stayed mine until someone made it mean more than it should.
