Melancholy Blue

Or maybe red, mm grey

Thought of buying blue curtains. The ones I have are a shade of yellow. The light is too bright with them. In the morning, it’s like the sun paid me a special visit. Yellow is happiness. So I thought i’d buy blue curtains.

Never worn blue, I remember liking it once, sky blue. I used to love how bright the sky was after it rained. The shade of blue made it look inviting. Combined with the yellow of the sun, it made it all okay.

Somewhere along the line it became annoying, after the gloom wasn’t always sunshine. I like the dusty blue. The one with a grey hue.

He said it would make it worse.. the blue.

Like listening to sad music when sad, how it makes it worse.

But I never thought I was sad.

It’s a quiet layer under my skin, before the red of my flesh. But I’m not “blue.” There’s a lot of red in my house.

The living room curtains, the carpet.

The yellow curtain in my room, with stripes of red.

Yes, it’s not a good combo. But it’s pretty.

My father always said, blue or red. I can never tell whether he’s angry or sad. He makes the same face for both. The same tension in the air.

The tension’s grey.

I get it from him, he never laughs. I laugh, too much he says. But he never does, small smiles, the ones you can’t decipher. I think he mourns a lot. I think I mourn a lot.

Everything’s blue.

The pictures I took with the blue tint years ago live in my head. With friends I never see anymore.

When my grandpa died, the walk to school in the morning. The shade of the sky no sun in sight. It was the day after, I felt bad for not being sad.

I imagined him as a ghost, walking next to me got spooked and ran to the bus stop.

It was years ago, but I still think about it.

I wasn’t sad then. But maybe I am now.

It’s strange, saying “I’m sad” because what happens after. Maybe someone will cheer you up, but doesn’t it just come back.

Everyday the sky is still blue.

Everyday, during sunset when it’s not dark but not light yet, the windows open and my room is blue.

But not really, it’s grey.

I think melancholy is grey. But I still want it to be blue.

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mel·an·chol·y

/ˈmel(ə)nˌkälē/

noun

1. a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause.

There’s a cause, there always is. But when you can’t pinpoint it, it’s easier to just say there’s isn’t a reason. He once said maybe we’d bleed blue.

If blood wasn’t red, would anything change? Would blue not mean sadness. I think I’d like it better if it didn’t.

His favorite color was green. Told him mine was blue.