There once was a girl named Blue.
Blue was just another human on earth, another passerby between here and there.
But Blue felt like anything but a passerby.
Blue felt…well, Blue felt everything.
That was the problem.
Blue felt too much.
Life and Blue were synonymous – the pains, the joys, it all passed through Blue like a vicious wind, causing hurricanes and tornadoes inside.
Blue loved the city. The thing about the city that Blue loved was that you couldn’t escape the sheer life of it all. The people were everywhere, their lives spilled across the pavements, their laughter reaching to 30th-floor apartments, their arguments reaching higher.
Blue liked it. Life was meant to be lived, and this was her way of living. Eyes wide open, pen at the ready, soaking up all that happened around her. The beauty in the pain, the pain in the beauty – it couldn’t be ignored.
But Blue often found herself being told things that didn’t sit right.
People would say “don’t let it get to you” or “get over it” or “you can’t fix things for everyone.”
And when Blue heard these words, she heard so much more.
She heard “why can’t you just be more like everyone else?”
But Blue didn’t want to.
See, the thing is, Blue loved the way she heard every song with a deeper note, saw every sunset with richer colors, and the way she knew there was potential in a universe that so many deemed destined for destruction.
But Blue also bruised more easily – hence, her name. She hurt easily. Pain found it’s way to her heart and sat there, comfortable in its familiar surroundings.
When others hurt, she hurt. She couldn’t help it. It was how she was made.
As everyone around her carried on, eyes dry and self-assured, Blue looked at her wounds and wondered why she wasn’t more like everyone else.
So she tried.
She tried to swallow it all.
She tried to ignore the rushing winds, the broken sidewalks, the vulnerabilities that called to her from everyone who walked past.
She bandaged her wounds and wore the right clothing that protected her.
She could be like others. She could care less. She could be less affected and infected by the life around her.
So she lived. Eyes shut, heart closed, she lived like the rest of the universe. She didn’t let the pain in. The joy couldn’t seem to find her either, but at least the pain wasn’t there.
But one day, her armor cracked.
And life began to sneak back in.
And the tears began to spill.
And Blues heart felt heavy.
And she noticed her arms and her legs and her soul begin to look blue once more.
And Blue broke.
Blue was angry. Angry with herself. Angry that she always seemed to be hurting. Angry that she couldn’t just live like others seem to.
Blue walked, and walked, and walked. She tried to walk off the way she felt so different than everyone around her. She tried to walk off the way that life grabbed onto her and didn’t let go.
As she walked, she saw a construction worker, tired and heavy from a hard days work lean over and hand a napkin to a child eating a cookie.
As she walked, she saw men. She saw women. She saw children.
She saw pain.
But she saw joy.
She heard laughter, smelled warm, soul-lifting food, saw the young being kind to the old, the old being kind to the young – and she knew.
Blue knew it was worth having the bruises. Blue knew it was worth having some days that the world punched her in the gut.
Because Blue knew that every wound had a story, every bruise made her stronger, every hurt propelled her forward. Blue began to realize that when she was no longer afraid of the bruises, those bruises made her braver.
She learned that being Blue was not something that happened to her, but something that was a result of her being her. Rather than running from being Blue, she began to embrace the Blue in everything around her. She realized that the people who loved her most, loved her as Blue.
And life for Blue began to look different.
Blue knew that life would always be more for her than it was for others, but she also knew she was entirely grateful for that.
She was entirely grateful that she was Blue.