THE BLUE HOUR

My blue carries out my wishes and imagination, splaying itself across the foreground of my lively imagination as I fantasize about my future and my lover, living in the city of my childhood.

The amber glow of the dawning sky shines through the sheer curtain of my New York City apartment, precipice of the new day ahead of me. Once again, the world has rotated fully in its idiosyncratic journey, now ushering me to follow in its path. My eyes feel heavy. Glancing over my lover’s sleeping body, slowly rising up and down in slowed calm breaths, I spot the clock and her time: 4:42 AM.

I draw my eyes back to the man next to me, noting the relaxation that underlines his features as his sturdy and strong frame envelops mine. I feel a small curve in my lip, as I bask in the flushed glow and heat of my body. Sex is only a physicality that doesn’t penetrate. Lovemaking is a metaphysicality that pervades.

The experience of human life is saturated with vividity because of the colors we see. Yellow is happiness; Blue is calm; Red is passion. Nuances of these colors manage to depict even the slightest singularities. For instance, a deep dark red is sensual, perhaps even haunting for some; Meanwhile, a bright neon red is eye-catching and whimsical. In my life, the only color that has managed to elicit my undying intensity and ardor is this one specific shade of blue.

It appears during times that feel so overtly intimate. It is intensely hued, yet remains light in the way my eyes drink it in. It can be daunting, but expresses a semblance of sublimity with its existence. Imbuing itself into the human world, at silent sincere times like 5 am, my blue possesses a disposition for drawing out the human condition. Often, the most intricate and vulnerable things occur in the dead of the night, and this sense is only exacerbated when with another human: friend, family, or partner.

For me, this color has always been associated with love. A love I have not yet experienced or possessed, but the same one I so desperately yearn to feel and encompass. My blue carries out my wishes and imagination, splaying itself across the foreground of my lively imagination as I fantasize about my future and my lover, living in the city of my childhood. The same way my lover would grasp me in his arms, my blue guides me in my steps upon this world.

Its constant appearance every day is reassurance and promise in my constantly changing internal and external landscape. Days, months, and years could pass, and he would still be there, never changing, even when I am dynamic. Just as he was there when I was 11 and under the covers reading my book, he still visits me every late night as I write fervently in my journal for salvation.

One day, my repeated fascination with this particular scene will manifest. Yet, even when it does, my blue will remain, withstanding time. Synonymous with my existence, I love my blue.

I love him.

AUTHOR: Janine Ren ARTIST: Sunny Cho