She… is blue. He remembers carefully, she is blue. He notes, many people like blue. Therefore, many people loving her perpetually remains a possibility in his mind. He tries to evoke consciousness of greed. The color blue does not belong to him, he does not own it. Saliva catches in his throat. She does not belong to him, he does not own her. The thought disgusts him—owning her and not owning her—he contradicts himself repeatedly over this matter, over her.

He wonders fondly, why is she blue? Does he identify her as blue for her appearance? Her blue shorts, the blue bra strap visible near her collarbone, and her blue lips which he marks became so from a lollipop? He shakes his head with his red hair. If her appearance is the reason, her coffee hair and chestnut eyes also have to be counted for. Those features have absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she seems to carry oceans around her.

She carries oceans and they drown him. She is everything he never wants from life.

He thinks intricately, studying his thoughts on his needs from the world. He understands he is rather the melancholic, believes in cynicism as his religion, and tastes nothing in the air except spite. "Beneath the surface," to him, merely is muscle, organs, blood, and bones. He never wants love, kindness, or ardor. The boy did lust for such things once, but never again.

He knows rather well, however, that she will not bring that into his life. She smiles and laughs in an uncanny manner that inflicts nausea upon him. Her voice unsettles and opiates his thoughts like she is finger-painting the walls of his mind with colors he never conceived. Her movements toy with his vision, he sees her motions as waves themselves. He wishes to go swimming. For once, he desires to explore.

She grows close to him physically and emotionally. She teaches blue is not only a color of sorrow.

As the boy learns this, he now realizes why he does not like colors. Colors have meanings. If colors have meanings, he might as well not like any. Yet, he undeniably has a penchant for blue. Is it because she is blue? Is it because even though blue is one color she weaves new shades he has never met? Blue holds promise.

She makes him live. He breathes air as if he really needs it to live. He sees plants, buildings and people differently. Through her, he has become many things. He grows. He fathoms he was once a dried plant, shriveling underneath the sun. She is the watering pot that gives him life diurnally. Water does not have a taste, but she does. For once, he thirsts water.

As he clutches the plastic around this bouquet of hues, he moves his feet down the pavement towards her door. He can feel his heart pulse strongly, he steps up her stairs quietly and calmly. Standing in front of her azure door, he passes his tongue over his lips. He is smiling. For once, he wants love.

Yet, a sound from her alarms him. He hears her shout. He stays still, replaying the sound of her shout in his mind again. He raises his fist to the door hesitantly, but hears her shout anew. To his right, he notices the front window to her home is open, curtains are aside. He catches sight of the navy couch. She is on it. The flowers drop from his fingers. She shouts once more. He stares as she waters a new plant, as she finger-paints new walls, as she drowns someone else with her oceans.

He cannot think thoroughly at the moment. He does not feel his heart. He slowly steps down her stairs, her shouts echoing in his mind. That sound also creates a new shade of blue in his life. He walks down the street, picking up his strides. He thinks of her blue shorts, blue bra strap, and her blue lips. He reminisces her voice and movements. He smiles in thought of her and what she does. She takes him from the shore, throws him into a sea of vibrancy and ecstasy.

However, he stops. He remembers afresh, she does not do that anymore.


a/n: for Stella, or silverbuttercups on Tumblr.