Blue

Have you ever been awake long enough to see the world turn blue?

 I lay awake sometimes, until time is no longer measured in hours or minutes; When it seems like everything is standing still. You can hold your breath and the only sound you'll hear is the rush of blood in your ears as your heart beats. Time is no longer a concept, it is no longer real. And then it comes. I swear sometimes you can hear a sigh of relief, the clouds sighing for the release of their burden like some men will sigh at the final thrust of passionate fucking.

 The color of rain is blue. I know this, because it brightens my room in an ethereal softness, playing on the light from the moon. And the color it bathes my room is not any particular shade of blue, but seemingly ever shade from the richest sapphire to the smoothest azure. Even the shadows tend a midnight hue.

 When the rain whispers against my window, loud enough so I can hear it but soft enough so as not to awaken my mother sleeping down the hall, I imagine she's speaking to me; the rain is obviously female. She comes to me in an hour she makes all her own, the blue hour. And when she comes, she tells me stories of lands far away, her whispers cocooning me in velvety softness.

 I like to imagine the rain as a woman, a real breath and body woman. I would never tell my boyfriend, but I'd like to know what her hands would feel like caressing my stomach, what her breasts would feel like in the palms of my hands. Her skin would smell fresh, and every inch of her would taste like honeydew after a spring shower. Her hair would be black, because that's the color of the sky when she's most beautiful. And she would be mine, holding me in her arms in the dead of night, whispering me her secrets and stories of far off lands, the past and the future.