The color blue is my favorite.
But there’s a door a shade of blue somewhere between the grey of today’s sky and the drained blue of a failed passion. Door 166 leads to a strange purgatory of sorts, a narrow and cold space between poor choices and the illusion of freedom.
I hate this door and this room and this non-color blue.
I would summon a prayer of thanks, but the lie would burn my throat.
A day will come where thanks will be a color somewhere between the clear sky and the deep blue sea, and the only hint of grey will be the clouds above the horizon.
How long, O Lord? How long…?