Its skin was colored with such a light green spread sporadically across its surface that it looked like it was stretched so that it was stressed on the corners.  It was such a light green that it seemed to walk on the edge of yellow, danced with it a bit.  Reminded him of the yellow haired girl he danced with on a rainy thursday.  He thought about the first time he met her.  It was a monday, long before the thursday in which they danced, long like single soft and thin hairs that he pulled from his clothes long after she left him.  It had been so long since he’d seen her.  Since he’d buried his face into her golden locks, breathed in gasps of delicious scents that smelled like house fires in the city.  He chewed on it like he chewed on the rhubarb that grew between his child hood home and his grandmothers.  Wanted to taste how smooth it was because he didn’t believe his fingers.  He thought about how the light shone off it with more angst and energy than when it was originally projected.  How it turned even the dullest and dustiest light into magnificent waves of brightness, and how that bright created smiles in dark and lonely rooms.  He thought about waking up, looking down at his chest to see it covered in the stuff, thought about how on mornings when he woke before her he’d stay awake waiting for her breaths to change so that he knew she was awake too.  He thought about getting lost with her.   about laughing with her for no reason other than to see her smile.  He loved her smile.  Loved the way it seemed to dangle from marionette strings attached to his unsure hands.  He wanted to feel the perfect roof of her mouth again.  It reminded him of night time,  and how he traced the little dipper on it when they kissed.  He’d make her black tea, and squeeze a whole lemon into it before he dropped a single teaspoon of sugar and stirred.  He made this for her most mornings.  And now all he wanted was to lose hours of sleep in the mornings again.  Now he slept past 8 and 9, past 10, finally awoke because his upstairs neighbor wore high heeled shoes and left her hardwood apartment at 10:15 every morning.  This clack was the only thing that roused him from his excessive and dismal slumber.  He’d met this neighbor once or twice, in passing, walking from the front door to his third floor apartment.  Her face looked tired, especially the lines around her mouth, and he guessed she was a receptionist of some kind.  She wore black stockings both times he saw her, and this made him question if it was on the same day or if she just always wore black stockings.