Blue.
Blue is the way you smile at me.
Blue is your hair blowing in the wind.
Blue is the freckles on your face.
Blue is your bony joints.
Blue is your brilliant smile.
Blue is your brain whirring on and on.
Blue is your sudden, fast rants.
Blue is your fingers dancing over piano keys.
Blue is your inability to sleep.
Blue is your ability to love.
Blue is your hard to put on converse.
Blue is our "so good".
Blue is your bag.
Blue. Is. You.
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I wrote this about my friend. She carries a blue backpack, so I've always associated her with dark blue. Apparently she associates me with pink, white, and silver. Again, I'm writing late. 11:44 pm. Cya next time.
YOU ARE READING
Introspection
Poetrynoun in.tro.spec.tion \ˌin-trə-ˈspek-shən\ : the process of examining your own thoughts or feelings I'm just gonna dump thoughts here. Probably sad. Maybe not.
