When I was with Michael, everything sparkled. The birds, the trees, the sky – especially the sky. It’s what brought us together, after all. Two photographers who met while photographing the same patch of blue. On that day, I could swear the sky was azure. Not Michael. He told me that to him, it looked as if made of sapphire. We published a collection of photos called “Hues of the Sky” and married soon after. Those were the happiest years of my life; precious, like a robin’s egg. And though I didn’t know it, our life was fragile. Three years after we married, Michael died.
Now nothing sparkles. Nothing glitters or glimmers, shimmers or shines. My life is cold and bleak. Without Michael here, the sky is no longer draped in jewel tones. It is not sapphire or azure, not blue diamond or turquoise. It is just an ordinary shade of blue.