You were born blank. We all were.
A pristine white page, ready to absorb what the world would throw at you. Ready to be plunged into the blue.
Soon after, a small drop of ink appears on your skin, like snow drifting from the clouded sky – unexpected and cold. Spreading, seeping in and diffusing, as the warmth of a mother's gentle touch is taken away. The flare of colour burdens you with a bit of its sadness.
This warmth is then returned, but the loss has already taken root, changing your ivory white skin, to the palest of pale blues.
You slowly learn to crawl, then stand up, clutching to the coffee table, as if it was your life support. Then you learn to hobble, tripping occasionally, and slowly gaining confidence. Cautiously you begin to wander through the house, babbling in an incoherent language, only to be understood by your own innocent mind. Leaving behind the world of dependency, a new drop adds to your icy skin, and as you lose a toy, perhaps left behind in the recently molted world, the drop blossoms into a small sky blue patch.
As you progress from babbling to mimicking the seriousness of adult voices, you lose your childish naiveté, causing new splashes of gentle sapphire to bloom, turning it to the delicate shade of winter's frost on the slumbering world.
These blue colours darken as you begin school, loosing your liberty, altering to the bright blues of a delicate incandescent butterfly wing, alike to the one you saw the day you lost your freedom, the day you became burdened with responsibility.
You enter the world of hyper-activeness, letting more beads of blue tint your skin. You learn to ride a bike, and the thrill of the speed nearly makes you forget the azure tinge.
Sometime, inevitably, you fall, falling deeper into the blue, causing bruises blossom on your skin, turning it darker. It's almost the same shade as lapis now. The painful fall adds undiscovered shades to your growing assortment of experiences – your skin now irregular, like an agate or a stormy sea.
Years later, tears roll down your face, as you are standing on street, calling out hopelessly out for your lost dog. The hot tears streak your face in new shades of blue; cobalt, prussian, navy.
Your first break up adds the blush of the forget-me-nots your loved one gave you, on your three month anniversary, sitting in the twilight flushed park, hands intertwined, letting you forget about your indigo freckled skin. The tears welling in your bright eyes mirror the sadness.
Numb pain.
Fiery numbing blue pain.
Burning new streaks of frigid arctic colour into your skin, mimicking the pain of your broken leg, as you're rushed to hospital.
The death of your father comes crashing in with slate blue waves and granite thunderclouds. Rain soaks your hair, your skin, your clothes. The downpour floods your once bleached skin, seemingly washing away past losses with these darker shades.
Over time the sadness accumulates and you become bluer. Bluer and bluer till you're just as blue as the depths of the ocean, the last couple of meters before sunlight vanishes altogether. Or as blue as the indigo at the edge of the rainbow.
