The sky. The sky on a sunny day is vibrant, joyous, glowing with hope and promise. On a cloudy day the skies get dark, light almost-white grey swirls into nearly- black and back out, the foamy tulle of a can-can as she dances wildly. But even in this there is blue. Blue-grey-black, the deepest depths of the clouds overhead; to the cold glow where the sun sneaks a peek, afraid to burst forth.
The ocean. And green, and gold, and black and white; violet and brown and pink and red. Water is the iridescence of a beetle wing, and it mirrors its surroundings as the world changes around it. Blue is family here, a part of the whole. No more or less than the sum of its fellow hues.
The low, sweet tones of a jazzman down on his luck. The music that pays the way for another drink not because of the musicians soulful renderings, but for the strings his notes pluck in the deep recesses of his listener. It is the intangible sadness inside, the ache that was once raw and bleeding but is now indefinable, welcome numb. And the songs celebrate this great hardship overcome; ‘remember when I died that time, when my heart tore in two.’ And we show each other those scars. And if we are lucky, those scars are beautiful to another wounded soul.
Blue is beauty, and pain; is life and death; is all and nothing…
…and I am blue.