if the unexpected breeze in summer was a colour, he thought it would be blue.
and a sky blue – not the one associated with all things depressing.
he stood quietly by blue curtains drawn back – pale blue, non-depressing – and watched razor sharp sunlight. he found the sight uncomfortably hot. his bare feet tingled. the cold mosaic reminded him, he was protected.
he stared at nothing in particular. the blue curtains billowed. tiny perforations in them threw spots of sun on the blue wall opposite – an undepressing light blue – and tiny rhombuses of the palest yellow traced up, and down, and up, in what looked like a line. occasionally, they’d distort.
he blinked. his mouth was set in silence that had lasted a few hours. his tongue felt dry.
the sunlight looked uncomfortably hot. absently, he frowned.
nobody else seemed to notice the heat outside. he stood on a spot warmed by his own skin. he blinked and turned to the elastic shapes on the wall. sporadically, they would stretch and flex, their middles bloating and shrinking, and then return to being evenly shaped rhombuses.
he wished for a seaside, and a horizon. an entire body of blue. faint blue. a blue, without the boundless sadness and psychology.
downstairs, people’s voices grew loud.
he was reminded of the bright sun outside. he felt his cotton shirt heavy at his skin.
the odd breeze tickled his nape. his left shoulder met his left cheek in instinct, and his left dimple flashed. his eyes crinkled at the corners. his mind went thankfully blank.
and he knew that a cold summer breeze was a sky blue.
needs heavy rework. god. i do only cliches.