There’s a shade of blue
that doesn’t live in the sky.
It settles quieter than that—
in the space between breaths,
in the silence after a name
you don’t say anymore.
It isn’t loud enough
to call itself sadness.
It doesn’t break things.
It just… stays.
Like dusk
that never quite turns to night,
like water
that looks still
but pulls at you underneath.
It shows up in small ways—
in songs you don’t skip
but don’t quite listen to,
in moments that feel almost full
but not enough to hold onto.
You learn to carry it.
That’s the strange part.
Fold it into your days,
wear it like something soft
that doesn’t ask to be noticed
but never lets you forget
it’s there.
And sometimes—
in a flicker you didn’t expect—
that blue
catches a little light,
and for a second
it looks like something else.
Not happiness.
Not pain.
Just a color
that means
you felt something
and it stayed.
Through the Fog 