Indigo.

"Indigo sounds ugly". 

Indigo lingers where day forgets to close the door,

 a cool hush between blue and night.
It settles on rooftops,
slips into the folds of early winter,
quiet as a held breath.

 Travelers trust it,
artists chase it,
the sky keeps it tucked like a secret.

 Indigo doesn’t shout.
It simply deepens
until everything around it
learns to slow down and listen.

 You met me once at the edge of day,

 when the sun stepped aside
and left its work half-finished.
I remember how you watched me gather
across the sky
like someone sweeping a quiet room.

  I returned tonight, unchanged.
Still the keeper of pause,
still the color that holds its breath
so others can hear their own.

 If you stand where you did before,
I’ll show you the same calm threshold,
the same slow deepening.
Indigo doesn’t fade
just because the world moves on;
it waits for the ones
who noticed it the first time...