Blue Like That: A Shade of What Lingers

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Blue is often a color that lives in the silence—the spaces between words, actions, and intentions. It is present in the hesitation after “I didn’t mean to,” or the pause following “I’m fine.”

It isn’t the sharp ache of something breaking, but the softer strain of something unfinished. It is the weight of a breath held too long, a question left unasked, time slipping by unnoticed until it is already gone.

The poem encourages us to reflect on the spaces that shape our lives. It urges us to consider what lingers when words fail or when time has slipped away. Blue, in this context, is no longer just a color. It surpasses its ordinary definition and becomes a feeling, an atmosphere, a subtle presence that weaves through the everyday.

It suggests something unspoken, something deeply felt yet difficult to articulate. This presence exists in the pauses and silences that frame our experiences. In these still moments, we are invited to confront the weight of what we carry—our memories, our emotions, and the ineffable truths that define us.

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Blue Like That
By Kerry Ann Wiley

Sky blue, azure, violet blue,
a bruise stretched across too much time.
A blue that never heals but learns to fade,
replaced by colors that sting differently:
amber, a taste of regret,
gray, like the sound of rain hitting a window never opened,
pale green, the almost-forgiveness.

Sky blue. Azure. Violet blue.
Not the blue of oceans or eyes, those blues are too eager, too visible.
This blue lingers in the corner of a room,
unnoticed until shadows stretch.

It stains the underside of clouds
after the sun fades,
when the air lies too still, too heavy.

It is the blue of a breath held too long,
ribs aching for the exhale that never comes.

The blue of something breaking,
not loud enough to call it shattered.
It waits in the silence,
soft but cold,
like the last light slipping off a glacier.

Blue like that.

A shade that doesn’t ask to be named but lingers anyway.
In the space between voices, where nothing is said as it should be.
In the pause after “I’m fine,” or “I didn’t mean to.”

Not a blue that washes out,
though scrubbed with reasons, good intentions, and forgetting.
It stays in the stitching of a shirt,
in the corners of photographs,
in the sharp edges of a name.

Sky blue. Azure. Violet blue.
It is the color of a door left half-closed,
a question no one dares to ask.
The shade of words swallowed down,
of things left undone.

Did it grow slowly,
creeping through the cracks, waiting for its moment?
Or did it strike all at once—a flash, a spark, a spill?

No answers.
Only the weight of it.
The heavy, hollow, endless blue.

Blue like that.

This blue settles into life’s unspoken moments, lingering where words are left unsaid, actions undone. Instead, it waits—persistent, a subtle ache woven into the fabric of a day, a year, a lifetime.

The Weight of the Unfinished

What makes this blue so familiar is its connection to the everyday. It isn’t tied to a single event or loss. It is the accumulation of all those things left unresolved: a conversation that drifts off before it finds its end, an apology that gets stuck in the throat, a goodbye that didn’t feel like a goodbye until much later.

This blue doesn’t arrive suddenly, nor does it take your breath away. Instead, it creeps into unnoticed spaces, lingering where vulnerability hides. At times, it settles in all at once, not as a wound, but as a bruise that fades yet never fully fades away.

While blue anchors the poem, it isn’t the only hue. Regret takes on the warmth of amber. It feels like something once full of potential, is now altered by what might have been. Amber doesn’t burn. It simmers—a quiet reminder that some mistakes grow heavier the longer we carry them.

The Shades of What We Carry

Gray is softer. It’s the sound of rain against a window left untouched, a reminder of something missed. Not by choice, but because the moment passed too quickly. Gray doesn’t sting. It lingers quietly in the background, steady and unyielding.

Then there is the hue of forgiveness. Not quite forgiveness, but something close—softer, easier to hold. It lingers on the edge, just out of reach, never fully materializing. It doesn’t promise resolution; it simply waits, uncertain yet hopeful, as if it might one day take form.

These colors blend, not perfectly or neatly, but in the messy way emotions do. Regret bleeds into longing. Longing shifts into hope, and then back again. The mix of these colors mirrors how emotions are never simple or separate. Regret, longing, hope, and forgiveness overlap, intertwining and changing. They reflect how our feelings are layered, complex, and connected. This complexity is what makes them feel so real.

What makes Blue Like That so powerful is its honesty. It doesn’t try to fix what’s unfinished or resolve the silences. It doesn’t promise that the empty spaces will be filled or that time will undo what has been left undone. Instead, it lets the weight of the unsaid and unresolved simply exist.

Why It Stays

This blue isn’t about despair. It is a subtle burden, the kind that comes with living alongside what can’t be undone. It is about accepting that life moves forward, even when something still lingers behind.

Blue Like That doesn’t push us to find answers. Instead, it encourages us to sit with our emotions, acknowledging their value without the need for justification. It reminds us that the unfinished, the unspoken, and the lingering spaces are not flaws or failures. They don’t define us, but they shape how we see, feel, and remember. This blue doesn’t need a name or a solution. It exists as it is—not to be resolved, but to be noticed and allowed to remain.

The poem leans into the power of the unspoken, recognizing the weight of what is left unresolved. The blue becomes a symbol of life’s unanswered questions, its pauses, and its incomplete stories. It is not about offering solutions but creating space to sit with the unfinished moments that shape us.

In Blue Like That, silence carries weight. Hesitations linger, and unspoken truths press into the gaps left behind. Blue becomes more than a color. It transforms into a feeling, settling gently into the spaces of what remains unresolved. It doesn’t ask for answers.It simply waits—asking only to be seen.

That is the gift of Blue Like That. It doesn’t tie things up neatly or offer closure. Instead, it opens a door. It invites us to step into the mess, to sit with the unanswered and the undone. To feel it—not to fix it—and let it become part of us.