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Blue used to be my favorite color.
Blue like the sky, long after evening had settled, the sun dipped beneath the horizon. Blue like the sound of waves. Blue like you. Blue like love.
Blue like the unending sadness you left me. I want to understand. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t.
I have never been whole. —With you I felt like I could be. That I was deserving of something more than what I had.
A gaping hole in my chest that you filled with blue. Blue like your eyes. Blue like your favorite color. Because blue was never mine— it was always yours. Blue was merely a substitute that you stuffed into my chest, stopping my heart from bleeding. Stopping me from dying.
But I am already dead.
And since the day I died, blue has become pale in comparison to the depth it used to hold. There is no laughter— no light that comes from the color blue. No touch of skin against my own. No stolen kisses, longing glances. No blue.
Blue is not truly absent. It’s still there. But it is not the same color. It is duller, sadder. It’s almost mocking as I stare at it, yearning for it to look how it used to. Blue is not the same when it isn’t your blue.
I still remember what you told me as we sat together by the ocean. I will never forget the way your blue looked on that day. Blue like the ocean before waves come crashing onto shore.
“Rin,” you said, your voice soft as you moved closer, lacing your fingers with mine, “what do you think happens when you die?”
I could only exhale, looking into your eyes. Blue. Blue like the ocean, which was calm as I spoke, “It doesn’t matter, Yoichi. But if you die before me,” until it wasn’t, waves crashing onto shore, hitting your clothed legs as you retracted them, “I’ll kill you.”
You laughed. It made blue seem even more beautiful, like the evening sky which had settled around us, “What if I did? Would you be sad? I’d never leave you, but I have the right to ask, y’know.” you poked my cheek teasingly.
“…I wouldn’t know how to live without you.” I said earnestly, but that smile on your face never faded.
“You’d manage. I know you would. But you said I can’t die before you, so I guess we’ll never know.”
The truth is, I’m not managing. I’m not okay. I miss you. I miss your blue. I miss everything you took from me when you left.
You lied. And it wasn’t your fault, but I blame you. Because if you were still here, blue would be the same color it’s been for as long as I can remember. Not blue like the indescribable emptiness that has filled my chest again. Blue like the way you loved me. Blue like the way I loved you.
Blue has become duller. Darker with each day that passes. Blue turned to black.
Black like the vast sorrow that will never leave my heart. Black like the day of your funeral.
On that day, I looked around and I saw nothing but what I was feeling. Dark. Hollow. Everyone offered their condolences, saying how sorry they were that I’d lost you. What they didn’t know was that I didn’t just lose you.
I lost myself. Blue has faded away to darkness. Black. Everything is monochrome. You first gave my life color, and then you took it back. I want to understand why you left. I want to know how you could do it to me. And it wasn’t your fault. But I blame you. I blame you because everything is so lifeless. There is no blue anymore. Blue used to be my favorite color. Not just any blue, but your blue.
My blue is sorrow. I can’t see the difference between my blue and any other color. I could only see your blue. And it’s gone— because you’re gone. Now blue is dark. Black.
I wish I could’ve known that you were going to leave me. Maybe then I could have stared into your eyes, blue, committing them to memory. Maybe then your blue would be mine, too.
I remember another thing you told me.
One morning, no different from any other, we laid in bed, facing each other. I remember the way your hands brushed over my face, too. Eyes, lips, nose. You murmured, probably not with intent for me to hear, but just because it was how you felt.
“You’re perfect,” you said as you placed a soft kiss on the tip of my nose, then my lips, “I love you so much.”
Because I knew you’d understand what I actually meant by it, I grumbled, rolling my eyes, “I know you do. You say it all the time.”
You laughed, “‘Cause it’s true. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I wanna be with you forever. Until the day I die.”
“Sappy.” was all I said as a response.
I wish I’d said it more when I had the chance. ‘I love you’. If you were still here, I’d tell you every second how madly in love with you I am. Even now, I am alone, but I am still in love with you. Your blue. The thing that made me want to spend the rest of my life appeasing you.
I wish for a lot of things. I wish I’d had more time. I wish I had you. I wish I could see the color blue the same way I did when you were here. But you’re not here, and it’s not the same. Blue has faded to black. Blue has become empty like my chest— my heart— before I knew you.
Wishing doesn’t change anything. Reality is what matters, and my reality no longer has you. My reality is monotone in comparison to the light you brought with your blue. I am not the same. I can remember you the way you were— because now that you’re gone, you don’t have the chance to change. I am still able to change, and since you left, I have.
Every second without you feels like a waste. But the rest of my life is a waste because you aren’t coming back. I will never see that shade of blue again. Your blue. The blue that was never mine to begin with.
No matter how much I beg to whoever might be listening, you’re not coming back.
And neither am I. Because on the day you died, I did too. You were the only one who stopped breathing — because I am still breathing. I am a soul constricted by living flesh and bones. My skin is warm. I can feel, hear, touch, taste. I am everything a human is supposed to be. But I am a shell of who I was with you, and I will never be the same. I am alive, but I am not living. I am not here.