Blue, the color of the sky as I looked
through the window of our lonely
house two days after your funeral,
when I wondered why water, like what
was coming down from my eyes, was
not falling down from the sky as well,
when I hated every beautiful day that
passed by and wanted it to rain on me.

Blue, the color of her eyes when I saw
her staring at me from the other side of
the restaurant two weeks after I finally
recovered from the depression I went
through after I lost you, and she and I
made eye contact and waved at each
other, when I felt a connection between
us that I was still reluctant to act upon.

Blue, the color of my nervousness and
indecisiveness of what to do after two
months of dating her, when I’ve been
feeling a bond getting stronger between
her and me, when I felt guilty for finally
moving on after you have died, and yet
somewhere deep within my heart I hear
your voice loud and clear, telling me that

you wouldn’t be satisfied unless I was happy.


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