There was a man I once met, and his name was You. When I first met him, I wanted to call him everything, but it always stuck in my head to call him Blue. A fitting name because no matter how green his uniform was it never compared to how blue his eyes were or how cold his hands felt or how frozen his temperament was. So for all purposes he was Blue. He had a smile so big it was dragged across his face like Apollo dragging the Sun across the Sky but he was too complicated for his smile to be a physical reproduction of happiness. His smile was his ever wanting. Wanting to be whole and wanting to be simple. And with every smile I could see him not wanting to be asked what he had done, all the while wanting to tell someone who he had been. I don’t think I’ve ever cared who he was before because the man I met stopped time and made roses seem like wildflowers and sunsets like dusk: everything seemed more ordinary than he did. And at times it angered me, scared me, or made me feel nervous when I thought that if I got stuck in his shadow I would be just as ordinary. I knew that to think of who he had been and not who he was was a trap I would always fear falling into. I knew how many times he had been told he was strong and he deserved something so much more than that. He deserved to be told he was Blue.