I’ve always loved the color green. It was your favorite. When our eyes first crossed paths, it was the color of the butterflies dancing to the beat of my heart. Your eyes were like sunflowers, so warm and tender. From the dark irises came gold, radiating outward and blending into a shade of jade that not even an artist can recreate because it was only meant to shine through your eyes. It was green when you first told me you loved me. I remember looking down at you, twirling my fingers through your sun-kissed hair as you lay on my lap. You got up and placed your soft lips upon mine, and when those three words escaped your mouth, time stood still as if everyone stopped what they were doing just to appreciate our love. Green was the feeling when you held me close that night as if the world was ending, and you were prepared to lose it all if it meant spending the last few seconds of your life in that intimate moment. I remember hearing the muffled noises of Redbone and loud screams from the other room seeping through the cracks of the door, and as we lay there together, none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except that I was with you, and you were with me. Green was not five months later when you told me you no longer loved me, and that I had this foolish mindset that our relationship was a story of two star-crossed lovers gone wrong when in reality, the truth behind our “love” was a series of toxic arguments between two broken people hurting the other.