blue

prose

blue was of the wind and it went wherever it went. it went to far away lands and places just the door over. but it always came back. but there’s only one blue do you see? not a made up blue. not two, not three, only one. pompeii blew its lid and it still clung to the blue. i saw myself in those places with no roofs, with crumbled honor at my feet, nothing to protect my head or eyes. just the bare of blue that hung above. blue knows when it is recreated. when it is painted. over time it will gray and gray. the wind is eternal and so is the passion of the heart.

 do you not see?