I am a sea of blue—layered, shifting, and deep. I am electric currents and dark, quiet depths. My surface is textured with fragments of memory and motion, where smooth waves meet sharp, broken edges. Light moves through me like a slow pulse, hinting at something hidden beneath. I am not just a color; I am a feeling—a mood that cannot be named, only felt.

I am tired of my own color. I am tired of being calm, of being sad, of being the shade everyone sees but no one understands. I am tired of holding so much depth, so much quiet. I want to break free from this blue—to scream in red, to whisper in gold, to dissolve into something else. But for now, I am here. I am blue, and I am sick of it.