I always thought you'd be different when I saw you next.

Your hair is still the same. Your clothes just as beat up, and those same bags under your eyes. You'd think you were moving across the country with those things.
You know, once you leave, you can't come back.
There isn't a line between gray and gray. The world is made of color, yet we decide that's not our morals. We must walk a monochromatic life to be models.
But then, why do our kings wear gold? Why do we adorn ourselves with violets and maroons to show that we are the best in our society?
Tell me, when did you decide you were worth the color?
Surely you've seen the way they look at you. They know you aren't worthy of coming out of the shadow. You never earned your colors; you're gray. Even now, after years of trying, you never could stop being the bad guy. It's a pity, too. I had faith.

I always thought you'd be different when I saw you next.