I know blue. Thick, smudged blue, like ink oozing from the spine of a broken pen. Like a vat of indigo, tipped, sloshing, splashing, running in fast rivulets then sighing into dry earth. Like the atmosphere at midnight, swelling to squeeze out even the tiniest prick of light from the stars. Blue I know.
My grief is gray.
All the color, even blue, has drained away. I feel like a faded photo in which my features are unclear, my face in shadow, hardly identifiable.