I wonder what it’ll be like when I first meet you.
Perhaps you’ll be an electric blue, the kind where every time you touch my hand it sends jolts of excitement through my body. You’ll be spontaneous, explosive, passionate, wild. Literally, whenever we’re together, sparks will fly. I’ll lean my head on your shoulder while we’re watching fireworks. We’ll sail the seas, letting the sea wind streak salt through our hair. We’ll board a plane as a split-second decision and land somewhere where we know nobody and their language sounds like the broken wind-up toy sitting in the bottom of my toy box. We’ll ring strangers’ doorbells and run away just as the door cracks open.
Perhaps you’ll be a slow, deep-cooking ocean blue. You’ll have a forehead with the slight grooves that crinkle up when you’re thinking, and I’ll run my fingers over them to smooth them out. Our conversations will be art themselves, our words trailing lines of glittery blue in the air as they leave and enter our mouths. And the line “I love you” will never cease to envelop me in warm feelings, running down to my stomach like warm soup on a winter night. We’ll take walks never taken before into deep, philosophical jungles of three-eyed jaguars and toothy anteaters. We’ll opt for the never-ending staircase instead of the elevator, running higher and higher towards eternal truth, never pausing to catch our breath because we are our breaths, wisps of transparency.
Or perhaps you’ll be an aquamarine. You’ll know how to brighten up any gloomy day. Your hands will be like the comforting handles of lollipops that we buy as children with a hard-earned quarter, and your smile will be the nine-tier cake we will eat on our first anniversary. You’ll be my sun on rainy days and my rain on dry days.
Even though I don’t know who you are or where you are, you’re my different shades of blue — you’ll make everyone else before you seem faded out.
But until I find you, I’ll be a melancholy blue.