Blue was a color I would never wear.  It didn’t matter how longingly I looked at sky colored dresses and sapphire ribbons, the color would never be mine. People like me wore only red.

I saw how the women in their blue silk looked at me.  Disgust and distrust filled their faces when they passed by my bright red dress. My face flamed in embarrassment.   I could never be as lovely as they were in their heavenly color.  My color was violence and disgrace.

Blue was the color of his handkerchief.  It took me a moment to meet his eyes.  I dreaded the contempt I would see.   I was surprised.  His ocean colored eyes were open and soft.   They looked past the stigma—past red.

He spoke to me.  Me.  A wearer of red.  He treated me with the respect that he would show his own color.  I looked around for wearers of blue, scared that they’re presence would ruin the moment.  No self respecting blue would be seen with the gaudy color I wore.

Our conversation ended with something surprising.  He asked if he might see me again.  I could hardly speak.   I told him that he may with a steady voice, but my heart was pounding.   The color of the sky would come to me again.

On our next meeting, a group of blue dresses and waistcoats came by.  Their faces immediately wrinkled into disgust.  I thought their look was for me, but it wasn’t.  Their revulsion was for the man with the blue handkerchief.  He didn’t notice.  His beautiful eyes never left mine. Blue was adoration. Blue was a shield.

He pressed his handkerchief into my hand.  I held the sapphire cloth reverently.  I owned a piece of blue, a piece of him.  I kept it deep in my pocket of red, careful not to let my father see.  I smiled all day.  Blue was a beautiful secret.

But secrets can’t last forever.  My father saw me with the man of blue and flew into a rage.  My vision burned with his vivid red shirt as his fists taught me that red and blue never mixed.

Red was the locked door that kept me in my room.  Blue was the handkerchief that reminded me of kind ocean eyes and gentle hands.  Red was the envelope I sent to explain that it would never work between us.  I would be forever imprisoned in the color of rage.  The freedom found in the color of sky would never be mine.  Red and blue didn’t belong together.

Blue.  It was outside my window.  The man with the blue handkerchief climbed in.  He told me that I was right; Red and blue didn’t belong together.  He whipped out a sky colored silk cloak and wrapped it around me.  I wasn’t the color of brazen violence.  I was the color of kindness.  I was the color of his eyes.

I left my house and all who wore red.

Blue and red could never belong together.   So, I always wear blue.



Liked this? There are more!




In honor of Valentine’s Day, I will be posting a story like this every week.  You’ll get more of the red and blue world! 🙂


6 thoughts on “Blue

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