Why blue?

Everyone loves a color, but when blue meets my eyes, my heart becomes a tidal sea, its waves pulling me back to childhood shores.

 

I see Grandma’s hands, cracked like ancient pottery, cradling a rough ceramic bowl — its rim edged with faded cobalt, like galactic debris worn smooth by time. Steam from hot porridge rose, crashing against that blue border and dissolving into clouds. “When it hurts, look at blue. It’s gentler than painkillers,” she’d murmur, dabbing my tears with an indigo handkerchief.

 

One night, I carried a basket of solitude into the laundromat.
There sat a girl in coral fleece pajamas, curled on a plastic chair reading The Little Prince. A detergent bottle wept peacock-blue tears at her feet.
When our eyes met, she smiled — like a mint dissolving in the ocean’s silent abyss.
Through the round glass, her blue pajamas tangled with white sheets, swirling like a miniature cosmic explosion.

 

All blue converge in memory’s creases.

 

At LunaNebula:
A blue hair tie holds the cicada chorus of graduation summer.
A cerulean plush toy cradles sheep counted under insomnia’s moon.

 

To remember:
Life cradles you in blue, always.