By Chung Yu Kwok
Turquoise, cerulean, azure. She breezes through each hue, pushes past each rack of coloured clothing. She has always been drawn to blue and its many vivid shades. Denim, faded, secondhand. A door opens. A bell rings. She lifts her gaze to meet his. Even from all the way across the store, she can see those eyes, clear as day. Electric blue. A shock to the heart. She feels it might beat for the first time.
Sea blue. The wind whips her hair into a frenzy, the ruffles of her skirt blending with the waves. He tucks the flyaway strands aside and smiles at her. She can only stare back and hopelessly drown. Love does not come in fiery red, but rather a deep, tranquil blue that she sinks into with no chance of escape. She trusts, content.
Sapphire blue. The gem winks beneath the lights, its sparkle cutting through the blur of tears that cloud her vision. All that blue might blind her. For just a moment, she allows joy and its fleeting spell to overwhelm her senses and wrap around her ring finger. The grey dusk almost seems to glow a happy periwinkle.
Sky blue. The sun beams and the clouds sigh. Geraniums, hydrangeas, morning glory. A fantastic image of perfect blue. Their sweet scent intoxicates her with each step down the aisle, petals beneath her feet and the train of her wedding dress. He stands with that smile, his suit a dark, cobalt blue, but she is only drawn to one single shade, that which she sees in his eyes. I do.
Navy blue. I will return, he promises, but she has seen the sea, and she knows how powerful a single wave is, how one can drag him under as easily as he captured her. For the first time, she fears, the fragile surface of her serenity shattered. Dark blue whips into a storm in her frenzied mind. She buttons up his jacket and bids him one last farewell.
Baby blue. Two lines, clear blue. She paints the nursery with every shade: teal, aqua, indigo. Midnight skies and oceans and lightning, and so many flowers. At night, she sits by the empty cot, spinning pastel blue thread into the shape of little feet. Rain patters against the window in a steady heartbeat that she sings a soft melody to. She hopes he will have his father’s eyes.
Blues. The ship sinks, the thread snaps, the heartbeat halts with a sudden jolt. Grief bleeds, the dull hues of greyish-blue seeping through the cracks of life, both old and new. The bell tolls twice above the door, but she cannot look for fear of what she will not see. She sets two additions on the clothing rack, not quite sure where they fit in, because she can no longer feel. All those shades blend together, and she finds that she cannot tell them apart. A tiny pair of socks, brand new, beside a worn jacket, secondhand. She prays they find each other in the peace of those blue skies.