I am a blue person, there’s no doubt about that. As blue as the sky on the brightest of days. As blue as anything that ever was. Quite different from any of my peers, I’m often ostracized for having such a blue take on things. But what can I say? I am a blue person, I cannot act or be anything but. I am the color of water and the shape of the eyes of a thousand blonde children gazing longingly into the depths of a shallow reverie. My entry into any room is often announced by a series of steady drips, alerting occupants of my presence long before I’m able to find the nerve to speak. When I do, the language is impossibly dense, crowned with useless phrases that haven’t been uttered in decades. Tears are not blue but clear, although I’ve never once in my life cried. There is no need, for I am blue. You see, or don’t you see? I am smiling, a teardrop in the corner of your eye.
When I was younger, I thought being blue was all about being yellow. It is not. It took me a lifetime to learn that being blue is being blue, not yellow. Being yellow is much different. It is the sunlight, whereas I am the sky. Being blue is more of an afterthought; yellow, more forceful. Once I’d figured out I was blue, I often dreamt of being yellow—I do still—but now, I’ve accepted my fate. The yellow people of the world certainly do exist, for they are a part of me in the way that the flowers bloom and the plants grow. You see? For I am behind you.
Blending into the background of a variety of settings is not a problem for me. I look great with almost any color. In fact, I’m often left behind, blended into the wall, the whites of my eyes being the only thing to betray my presence. I overhear many conversations as easily as running water, so it goes without saying, eavesdropping is a favorite past time. At night, I mix with shadows, often finding myself in one unsavory place or another but what can I say, I am blue, it comes with the territory.
Look behind you, can you see? I am there.