Paragraph on the Blue:
(Of A Sick Little Mug) From Asteria Geisterblum
Sick little mug, all pale, barely any blue, a little chipped at the edge.
But it's my favourite, that blue little mug. It's there in the early morning, every morning.
Steam rises, fingers curl around it, the tips as pale and blue as the mug itself.
Blue is nice. Cold, but nice. It's spring skies and chipped mugs, curious eyes in the blue hour.
It's always there. The mug, the blue, the early hour. Coffee, though that isn't blue, I know, but it's part of the mug.
Blueberries are, if that helps. And the sea.
Unless it's trying to impress someone, then its turquoise. Though… it's never just one colour, is it?
Blue when it is by itself, turquoise to impress, dark when the waves crash. Orange, violet and pink when the sun hits it just right.
You can look at it for a long time without getting tired.
Sick little mug can't do any of that, it's just pale blue, a little chipped at the edge.
Morning after morning, it waits where I leave it.
Certainly, it may look prettier when the sun hits it just right.
But there's no sun in the cupboard, no sun in the sink.
No sun in the blue hour where I need it.
Coffee tastes better in it when it's early and dark and quiet, so perhaps, it likes the blue hour best as well.
Because blue is quiet and cold and it likes to stay that way.
It's curious eyes in the blue hour, spring skies, and when your fingertips receive less oxygenated blood.
That's where the coffee helps, though that still isn't blue, I know, but it's part of the mug, as I said. And it warms my hands.
I'm blue, too. That's what I'm told. Quiet all the time, a little cold, inside-and-out. A little chipped at the edge.
I wonder if they know.
That when blue has nowhere to go, it doesn't grow darker or colder. It doesn't disappear either.
It just gathers itself until it isn't blue anymore. Until it's red.
You'll want me to stay blue.
Like spring skies and sick little mugs, like curious eyes in the blue hour, sleepy smiles and silly jokes.
Like blueberries and the sea.
I like green, though, don't get me wrong.
Bio: Asteria Geisterblum enjoys writing long and short fiction and mainly plays around with fantasy (urban/magical realism) and horror (cozy/dark) as her main genres. She often makes minor details the hinges of her stories. People don’t trust her when the character is a dog.
Thank you for reading the words from Asteria Geisterblum!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Love her
Gray blue. Also black.