Azure

I was born blue. The moment I opened my lazy, day-late baby blues and began surveying the world, my mother knew she'd been right. Her little azure blue.

My eyes now are softer and greener. The cerulean rim remains. They're open halves of blueberries, revealing light teal flesh. Azure does have an element of green. Have I become more myself, as I've gotten older?

"Like the colour?" Like the colour. Like freshly laundered ocean or a brand new sky. I'm not blue enough to sing the blues--not dark enough to be a twilight navy. I'm not powdered, either, or pastel. I'm bold without being neon, light without being washed-out, bright without being blinding.

Every time I introduce myself, I reaffirm my identity: existing in, personifying, and being azure. And like azure, I set out to everything in life with cheerful determination. I'd like to work on that boldness a little bit more, but everything else matches to a T.

It's been a strange experience, when asked who you are, to say that you are a colour. And yet, I wouldn't have it any other way. No one else really wants to be blue, so I bear the mantle for them. No one wants the single dimension of it: "I am blue, I am sad." It's so painfully clear-cut; no room for flexibility.

It's only because I am actually blue that I understand the truth: blue is complex. It isn't all one thing; there are as many shades of blue as there are birds in the cyan sky. And even the shades are complex. Yes, I am one thing, because I am azure. But I am also many things, because I am azure.