Blue

I've always found it strange that people see blue as a sad colour. I guess it comes from the romantic poets who always used it to portray how destitute their lives were and how painful their existences were. It's unfortunate that blue got the reputation it did as a cold and depressing colour. 

I love blue. My room back home is blue (only two walls though (mum didn't want it to feel too cold). My bedsheets are blue. I have blue bags and jumpers and plenty of blue clothing. Blue is my favourite colour. It has always filled me with this resounding peacefulness. Blue is my happiest colour.

I don't know how anyone can think poorly of blue. It surrounds us constantly - In the sky, the air and water. It inhabits the entire world. It's the most beautiful colour and it can have so many meanings.

I found a poem a while back by Philippa Lane called Blue and I fell in love with the way she described it:

Blue floats and hovers
it never comes to rest
its scent is distant bonfires
its touch moth-breath

Blue is man-child
with spiritual eyes
a stranger in a room
who isn't one
soft down on upper lip
felt without touch

it is dreaming at night
of what is not and cannot be
it is gauze-vision
half-reality

it is a shaky signature
on a typewritten page
seen through mist

Blue is pain that is borne alone

it is quena music
bone-notes quavering over absent flesh
in death worship

yawns are for want of blue
and partially for having it

Blue is pigeons
and siamese cats
and snow shadows
it is for ever
stretching

it is ten billion spindles
weaving blue fabric endlessly

it is the certain
uncertainty

The way Lane shapes the colour blue is so reflective of everything I think and feel from it, the happiness I have always associated with it.

​Maybe it's just me.