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1:25 a.m. 7 Sept 2000

Every time I see cobalt (atomic # 27, wt. 58.933) blue I am interrupted with a fleeting recollection of moments with her. I see the blue everywhere; ceramics, paintings (usually iconoclastic Madonna and Child pictures), the German barista's finger nails at the coffee shop, and in flowers.

When I take a moment to feel the color, I always do, I know that my dilatory strategies failed and the practicability now of being with her is not possible. I sigh full of lead (atomic # 82, wt. 207.19) and I feel longing for a dry place in this ocean of oblivious hope. I ponder the moments of lucid, immobilized circumstance we shared. Choked up swelling in my throat occurs when I see the cobalt in the flowers by Loring she admired. This color being the explaination for my longing, born in nature; feathery, sumptuous, ripe, earnest and our blue most.

I wonder if she remembers?

I remember, too often really. She hasn't been easy to forget.

Before our lives changed, I was insecure and lost. I had not the foresight to comprehend that later I would possess a desire to rewind time - to find a crack, a space to freeze to alter and transform moments. If I had found that crack, that space in time, as I am now, I might have come up to scratch and told her.

Tell her what?

Tell her that periwinkle doesn't do her justice, nor violet or sky blue, that cobalt brings her magic and that I know. I know a periwinkle is a small gastropod often found feeding among the seaglass at low tide, and that violets are too purple, and that the sky is blue because the sun shines the other colors out. Tell her that cobalt reminds me of her, and that she makes me feel.

Fret not. I would not just spout nonsense if I had the chance to rewind time. I would persist, verve toward and into her soul of self. I would pray that she might find me as her best boy. I would release airy hope that my desire would fall over her like a sheet, and blow off just in time to see me standing with arms full of daisies and lilacs.

If only...

If only she knew that since we parted, I have had a stone in my stomach. A wee stone which feels like a sock full of marbles. Before the stone was in my stomach, it was in the ocean, polishing, tumbling around, growing smooth on the outside, while the inside remained rough and jagged. When I found the stone upon the beach among the periwinkles and seaglass, I put the glorious rock in my snug pocket to give to her. This wish was just for her.

I transported the stone with me until we met. When the moment of time and space came, my fear of rejection swelled, and I worried about the rough and jagged inside of the stone. What if it were to break? The insides were not simple to appreciate though they were cherished by me. I thought she might lose the stone, or that this mystical talisman, a cunundrum of self would be similar to giving her an unsolved Rubik's Cube as a gift. Instead, I swallowed the stone and left. Now, it is stuck in my stomach and it is you.

You have been with me this whole time

...and it is blue...

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