They asked me today what I represented, and I automatically thought about Green. He has metamorphosed from a color on a palette of spring pastels to a living breathing person, whom I dedicate many thoughts to.
He has been so nice to me lately, and sometimes I wonder if I am imagining it. Perhaps he is a bobblehead to me, a floating face whose mind and words I've only dreamt of. Or perhaps not, perhaps he is madly in love with me–that I doubt. Or maybe I am simply a symbol of the less fortunate to him and he therefore makes an effort. I would give anything to know what he is thinking every second of every day, every sweltering moment we stand facing together, eyes blazing.

To be fair, I don't like him too much and am very critical of him in a thousand ways. I never talk to him I've realized, so soaked in the spotlight of attention I'm not used to. I shied to the side and looked at him laugh. If only there was disappointment hidden in his words. If there was disappointment, I would care. But the aftermath is full of a combination of regret, and shock. I snap my fingers in regret, and promise that tomorrow I'll talk to him.

I shall take a rocket-ship to the moon, as well.