The sky is blue.

I know this to be true, just as I think you do too.

I've never been great at public declarations, but it seems that most expect me to scream my knowledge across the rooftops. "The sky is blue!"

As though, if I do not speak it to be, it cannot be.

As though, if I do not speak of my connection with blue skies that it cannot be true nor genuine.

But why should it matter what others perceive me to be when the sky and I understand one another?

Isn't that what truly matters?

There are many ways more than words that the sky knows of my appreciation of its beautiful shade of blue that oh so reminds me of my metaphor's blue eyes.

I could spend hours staring longingly above and counting white clouds that paint the most beautiful pictures.

I could bask in the warmth that it showers below and let its heat color my skin.

But many forget that the sky is not always blue.

Nonetheless, no matter its changing colors, sombreness or temperature, I love it so.

And the sky knows it too.

It knows by the way I dance under dark clouds that weep against my skin and soak my twirling feet.

It knows by the way I jump and laugh in glee across the mountains of white dust that it sprinkles atop my land.

It knows by the admiration and sheer amazement I hold for the sparkles that glitter on its skin during its darkest times.

There are many ways that I remind the sky that it is blue, but should it ever forget, I would be more than happy to go to greater lengths to show it the extent of my affection.

I could battle the nerves in my gut and scream those three words across rooftops as most believe I should.

I could climb Mount Everest and sing those three words for all to hear.

I could parade our beautiful connection across the world until the muscles in my legs flutter as much as the butterflies in my stomach.

I could write so many silly metaphors that my hands cramp as I finally find a way to voice the words trapped in my chest.

I feel that I have made myself clear, but perhaps my fear of blunt honesty has created doubt.

You see, screaming those three words at the sky may seem easy in theory, but it can also come with great anxiety.

For while I can hope with the entirety of my heart to be met with the same warmth that I feel for my favourite shade of blue, there is always a chance of getting burned.

All it takes is forgetting to layer my skin with sunscreen once.

In the snap of a finger, I could be struck by lighting...

Alas, despite this risk of pain and heartbreak, I can be brave, for blue skies deserve to know the way in which they're loved.

In the chance that you remain uncertain after all this, hear me as I stand on this metaphorical rooftop:

Just as the sky is blue, I love you.