Her skin is slightly darker, while I'm slightly jealous she let the sun kiss her body. Reminds me of when we painted our bedroom, she insisted on a sunny color while I preferred blue -but I gave her my word, all my words. As she flips to devour another page of her book, my eyes glance upon her green nails- she never liked green, because of her missing emerald parakeet.
Maybe she finally let the parakeet go with peace. After searching for years, she found something else, maybe she realizes green fits her complexion -I mean what color wouldn't? No matter what she found, it stopped her from listening for her parakeet. Am I apart of things she let go? I refuse to believe I was replaced by something -someone- else, I refuse to be a fucking green feathered bird.
She's sitting in-front of me on the park bench, but she hasn't looked up. As her hands cradle the book, a small curve creases on the sides of her lips. I decide I should stop staring, but a man approaches her- they smile at each other. What a lucky guy.
I should just walk home, fly back into her stash of lost things, hoping one day she might remember, and see what I was once worth to her.

I am looking at him. He's wearing the same outfit as when we painted our bedroom; denim jeans and a turquoise v-neck. I still remember the deep blue he wanted to paint the walls, but my stubborn personality forced the walls to be yellow, and his soothing voice promised me, "I give you my word". I miss his voice - how "darling" used to roll effortlessly off his tongue.
He comes here, to this park, every Saturday at 3:15pm, and little does he know I sometimes come to glance at his deep royal eyes and adorable cowlick. I look back down to my book, reading the poems I wrote earlier today, my favorite one is where I am yellow and he is blue. How if we mixed, we would've been green. I used to hate green because of my missing parakeet. But every inch of my body wished we painted our bedroom wall both blue and yellow- to weave a luscious, everlasting green.