Blue Love Poem by Natasa To

Blue love is not the red of roses,

not the loud confession of flame—

it is tide and hush and horizon,

a feeling too vast to name.



It is the color of almost-midnight,

when the world is tender and wide,

when the sky leans down to kiss the sea

and both are too full to hide.



Blue love is patient as winter light

resting on quiet snow,

a pulse beneath a frozen lake,

deep where soft things grow.



It tastes like rain on open palms,

like letters never sent,

like denim worn and faded thin

by years of heaven bent.



It is distance without departure,

a song the whales might keep,

a promise folded into waves

that rock the earth to sleep.



Blue love does not burn to ash—

it lingers, cool and true;

a steady star in a drifting dark,

a bruise that blooms into blue.



And if you ask where blue love lives,

it lives where silence starts—

in the quiet between two heartbeats,

in the deepest parts of hearts.