Blue is supposed to be a calming color.

And I guess it worked because when I watched you leave

I was numb like you were

When your sailboat crashed against

The grey rocks, similar to the ones on the shore

Where you should’ve stayed with me.

Before you left, you told me

You would come back before the blue paint peels.

Paint curls have littered the floor.

The calm has past.

And now’s the storm.

Poetry

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