A Hue of Blu: the unforgettable love story

by Marie-France Léger

I would’ve done anything for him; he knew that. He took advantage of that.

I’d wasted three hundred and sixty-five days chasing a fake dream of being fake happy.

“Sometimes silence is the best form of conversation.”

I was the firecracker. He lit the spark. I was the puppet. He was the puppeteer. I was the colour. He was the hue.

The irony, that the people you cared about most were always the ones to leave you in pieces.

He never did anything with me as the primary focus. I was never a priority, never first. I satisfied him, but I was never enough to fulfill him.