Becoming Blue
He wanted to stay, to fold himself back into that quiet warmth, but the storm inside him would not let him rest.
Slipping from the bed, Blue padded across the creaking wooden floor and stepped outside. The night air bit at his skin, sharp and cold, but he welcomed it—it cleared his thoughts better than any lullaby. The moon hung low, veiled by wisps of silver clouds, and the forest whispered like an ancient witness, aware of every secret they carried.
Blue wrapped his arms around himself, staring at the faint glow on the horizon. How much longer can I keep pretending I don’t already know what I have to do?
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