-Blueberry Pie-

I can see why everyone’s favorite color must be blue. Hues that range from tints to shades don’t grow murky in the mist or too dark to sink in. People must see themselves in the color glinting off broken shards of washed up broken bottles. Their grace and ability to soften like melting candles in the blueberry cotton candy stuck to the corners of their lips. Their ability to soothe and push and pull emotions by looking at something as simple as just another reflection; just another puzzle piece of the cloud-covered rainbow.

I can see how some may want to sink in the crevices of navy-blue waters and storms. The crashing waves whispering in our ears to jump in and join them. The blue covers of my leather-bound books coo for me to walk past and brush my fingertips along their dusty pages; old and withering.

The irises of my girlfriend’s enthralling eyes, tangling my thoughts and heart strings like a puppeteer. Fish jump and crash against the bustling waves within them. They set me to sleep like poppy seeds, vision buzzing on the outer edges. Her favorite sweater draped her skin in the baby blue of fresh linen, knit by her father with love between the stitching. Her lipstick was always pastel… so blue you’d think she was born with never-ending pneumonia. But, it tasted like blueberry cotton candy, pillow soft and sweet as pie, yet the fair was when we said goodbye.

~ 𝒾𝒻𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀 ~