Shades of Blue

A Story by Lexi Kaitlyn

Cerulean was the color of your eyes, the ones I began drowning in the very first day I met you, with your sly smirk and charming wink. Your eyes were as dangerous as the waters of the pacific that we lived along and I've never been very good at swimming.

Azure were the flowers you gave me the third time we met (I'd be lying if I said I didn't have them - they're pressed between the pages of my favorite book, their name you once told me now long forgotten) you had flourished them with a smile and said they were almost as pretty as me.

Midnight was the shade my nails were painted the first time you kissed me, freshly painted only hours beforehand because you had told me I needed a change from my ever monotonous black; you wouldn't let go of my hand after that.

Tiffany was the tint of the box you presented on my birthday. "Open it," you had whispered eagerly, your excitement evident because you knew this would be the most expensive gift I'd ever gotten in all my sixteen years.

Sapphire was the color of the necklace inside, the gem that glinted proudly in the light. Every time it sparkled, I was reminded of you and it was for the reason I never took it off. I still wear it now, matter of fact.

Turquoise was the color of my dress when prom inched around. You twirled me around all night, telling me how I was the prettiest girl in the high school gymnasium, prettier than the girl who won prom queen; your voice was like honey as you whispered how I would always be a queen in your eyes.

Cobalt were the walls of your bedroom that night, the dim candlelight making it hard to see, but I could still make out your silhouette as you led me to your bed, gentle to the touch and careful with your lips. Your mother was out of town, you had told me earlier that week, so the entire night was ours and ours alone.

Navy was the color of your favorite shirt, the one you let me borrow before we fell asleep. You told me how you thought I looked better in it than you ever did. I slept in it almost every night after that - I might still have it, if I look and dig deep enough into my closet.

Maya was the tint of the sky, so deceiving in those next few weeks. The sky was peaceful and so were we. Everything was perfect, or so it seemed.

Royal was the shade of your car, the one that took you far away from our dingy little town. It was the vehicle we had spent countless afternoons in, singing along to the radio, our laughter echoing out of those poorly tinted windows of yours. I never imagined it would be the one to take you away from me when it was the place that had slowly brought us together.

Teal were my sheets that reeked of you for days until I forced myself to wash the scent of you away. But you still lingered like a bad dream. The reason why my pillows stayed soaked for months until I left for college.

Periwinkle was the envelope I received in the mail from you, a year after you had disappeared.

You told me how your life was, how you were sorry but you needed to leave town that June morning of you would have gone insane. I remember tracing the inked words that left indents on the paper, as if I thought it would bring me closer to you. You missed me, you wanted to try again.

Azure was the color of the small flower bud hidden in the envelope, that was how I knew.