To The Scarf: Blue is the Color of Wordless Grief

I say, "Friend, pour your heart out to me" but the only thing a man of my stature can afford to pour is liquor into an empty glass. Men tell tales, and liquor drowns sombre reflections.

I am the harbinger of sunshine in your life so you never have to look into the dimness of mine. I insist, "Friend, tell me your needs" for yours are far simpler than mine.

This uncomplicated thing you call life is a mockery of my very being. See, Grief is a wordless thing, and I've chosen to wander into the blue.