The first thing I ever loved was a bright blue shovel.

One of the worst ice storms Memphis had known sealed it under a surface as hard as it was unexpected. I dropped my gloved hand to pick it up and the world said no.

I didn't know what ice was. I just knew the blue was right there, and I couldn't have it. I cried, and the memory fades to white like the sky.

Blue was my first obsession, but I'm pretty certain it won't be my last.

Blue team. Brilliant Blue. The blue of every favorite thing I've picked since — I keep choosing it before I notice I'm choosing.

Since college my eyes carry a permanent layer of static.

In the dark it acts like a reverb visualization — and during the recovery I watched it pulse like a dying star, my mania fighting the medication in real time.

Break the speed of light inside a medium and the universe glows blue. Nobody fully tells you why it's blue.

Dog physics says color is fundamental and possibly conscious — and that every other color might be encoded into blue and ultraviolet anyway.

I think the universe and I picked the same favorite.

My catastrophizin' ass knows that blackness and blindness will be my final obsession.

Blind from all sense is my worst fear — and the only guarantee I have.

The book is about everything in between.