Midnight Blue [Prose]

If I had to pick which crayon you were, you'd definitely be blue. Not the Sky Blue that seems to be everyone's favorite color, but the Midnight Blue. Because you know that's my favorite time to think about you. When the world is still, and I feel like I'm the only person that's left awake.

You could be the royal purple flames that try to devour my heart and, Darling, my heart burns for you. Or maybe you're the Copper that reminds me of the metallic taste of blood -- that taste that always seems to linger on my lips. Or are you the flesh colored crayon? Because, Sweetie, I can almost feel that pin prick touch of yours. The touch that makes me shiver.

But none of those colors work.

Baby, you're my Midnight Blue. The color that holds all the stars.. and I think it's those stars that seem to always twinkle in your eyes. You're almost black, but there's something illuminating in the darkness to make you glow into that brilliant color.

Will you let me be your moon?

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I have no idea.