BOY #2
Life is blue.
Blue is small and sad. Lost and empty. It’s big enough to swallow you whole. It’s being lost and confused. It’s loneliness. It’s a cry in the night and a slash of bright sky in the morning. It’s all I can remember feeling, everything I’ve learnt to expect.
All someone can know after... well, after a lot of things, I guess.
Blue, in its darkest, most painful form is death. Death of everything I ever loved. Death of happiness and smiles. Death of warm embraces and warm beds to crawl into at night. The death of my family.
Blue is my dad’s guitar, the one thing from my old life I still carry around with me. Blue is the colour of its sleek, shiny body. Blue is the melancholy songs I write for it. Blue is finding inside me the one thing that makes me happy. Blue is opening a door in my self I never thought to open. Blue is music, the last bit of love I can feel.
Blue is heartache. Blue is loss. Blue is pouring out my soul into that instrument. It’s the hunger I live through just to be able to buy new strings. All to keep my soul alive. To stop me from turning into an empty, cold, shell of a person.
It’s the smiles that people give me when they hear me play in the park. It’s the rare smile I feel on my own face when I let myself be swept away in the music.
Blue is the rain that falls from the sky, drenching me to the bone. It’s the sky parting once more, the low-hanging clouds giving way to open, smiling skies. Blue is the beginning of the sunrise and the end of a sunset. It’s the beginning of beginnings and the end of ends. It’s everything in between.
Blue is hope. The feeling that maybe one morning I’ll wake up and it will all have been a dream. That maybe something good will happen, something that will change me. Make me better.
Blue is the only colour I seemed to notice in any place I ever went after they died. The world always seemed tinged blue, because the warmth I used to know was drained from it. Blue and cold. Loveless. Every foster home was the same. Blue. The only thing that changed were the people there and the feelings I got when they looked at me. Happy blue, sad blue, angry blue.
Blue was the first fire escape I ever climbed out of. Blue was the night where I packed up everything and ran away. Blue was the air pumping through my lungs as I left that foster home far behind. Blue was never once thinking about escaping back up. It was spending my first night sleeping outside in an alley. It was wondering if I was going to die. It was not minding if I was.
Blue was the uniformed police officers who found me in the morning. It was the feeling of hopelessness as they pulled me to the station. It was my escort to my new family. It was their fake smiles as they welcomed me in.
Blue was running away again and again. Blue was learning to live alone. Blue was enjoying it.
Blue is tears. It’s crying out everything you have and everything you want to be. It’s forgetting the past and fearing the future. It’s hiding in the present because it can get worse, but you don’t want to think about that.
Blue is worry. It’s giving up. It’s fighting. It’s lasting. Longing.
Blue is the only colour broken people know.
Blue is the only colour I know.
Blue is life.
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