Green

Grass is green. So is this sweater. So are my eyes. So is youth. So...what?

I miss the smell of wet, freshly cut grass. All my favourite sweaters are green, and so is my least favourite. It usually takes years of someone knowing me for them to realize the colour of my eyes. Young, innocent, easily broken like a tree, youth.

So is my envy.

It's one of the ten, one of the seven, and the one that I can most easily disguise because it looks pretty good on me. Everywhere I look, there are people who I consider enviable. When will I wake up and finally have those things that I don't consider too much to ask for?

Sane, healthy, lovable, fertile (for lack of a better adjective)...too much to ask? Happy, even sometimes? Apparently.