Blue

Photo by Yan Berthemy on Unsplash

I never trusted blue eyes.
They were too clear, too easy.
See through.

But then,
I fell through
his blue eyes.
Into this.

I didn’t know this would teach me
to wait for the door
held patient
as the space we’d need.

I didn’t know it would come
rolled in a sleeve of cozy socks.
Just because.
Or unexpected dresses
and bedroom fashion shows.

I didn’t know it showed up as
meals cooked for me—
a plate served before I sat down.
Or a sunglass holder snapped into the visor
because I complained
one Tuesday.

It was barely hanging on the night I answered his call.
Heard him blurt: My Dad is dead.
I didn’t know what I could give
before he knew how to need.
But he let me.

I couldn’t hear it in the hum
a father’s truck tires made
the three long days
he drove alone from Utah
to our favorite bar.

I almost felt it across the miles we talked,
the days I convinced him to walk
beaches then bridges.

Never thought it would assemble lures
into a gift for my son
he hadn’t met.

I pressed it into every parting kiss.
I rushed. So much.

I didn’t know it could reach first,
hold my face, then me.
Ask me to stay just a bit longer
in bed.

I couldn’t believe it would see me
through my failures—
the sharpest shapes
I spent a lifetime tracing,
swallowing for love.

I never knew that blue eyes could stay.
Or stand me still.
Patient as the door he holds open
for me to walk through.
Clear as anything I almost missed
Blue.

©Just Kayla, 2026

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My first step toward a love poem. I wanted to explore how steadiness and commitment reshape perception, revealing themselves quietly through small, ordinary acts.

Credits: his blue eyes