Dad was surprised when he found out that I was planning on meeting Warren again. I wanted to bring up the idea of me potentially being interested in men to my father but I was afraid. I was afraid because I was unsure of my feelings and I was unsure what my father's reaction would be. I didn't want to disappoint him. I didn't want to be 'mentally ill'. I hoped that the day I came to terms with my feelings and was comfortable enough to open up to him, he'd accept me.

This is a little shameful to admit but I spent about fifteen minutes of my time after I got home the previous day refreshing my messages with Warren before he finally sent me a message. We decided on meeting the next day at 4:43pm. 

I hated numbers. I despised them. But for some reason, him constantly picking specific timings to meet up with me itched the satisfaction-corner of my brain. I was unaware as to how I should spend my time before meeting up with him. Dad suggested that I take a look at my old journal and I felt that this was a good idea. 

My journal had a bunch of Kirby stickers on the cover page that my father had gifted me when I was about twelve. I even wrote with pink pen and the entirety of my doodles consisted of Kirby and nothing but Kirby. My obsession was at its peak when I was younger. 

I flipped through the pages and read the names under each colour. I barely remembered any of the names written down since it'd been so long since I'd last seen them. I found myself wondering what my classmates were doing right now. Were they married? Did they have children? Had they found their pink or their blue?

Red.

Red had Aunt Delancey, Francis, a dog that bit me when I was six and my grandfather. These were people or even animals who raised their voice often or were simply scary. They didn't necessarily have to be scary all the time. Only when they yelled. Grandfather yelled often. He was always gentle with me but he was violent with nearly everybody else - and for this, I assigned him red.

Orange had people who had a tough time coming to conclusions easily or people who seemed oddly nervous at first glance. 

And then there was yellow. 

The only name I'd written under yellow was my mother's. I'd witnessed plenty of yellows in my life but I couldn't bring myself to write anyone else's name beside my mother's. Yellow symbolized warmth and kindness.

Green contained people who would get jealous quite often. I thought about Tyrone. Tyrone was protective over Elsa, not in a way that would be concerning, but he sure did get jealous often. He just didn't show it. But you could tell from the way he'd begin to avoid eye contact and from the way he'd roll his eyes or wrap his arm around Elsa if he caught another man looking at her. 

Blue was sadness. People who appeared to be sad more often that not. People who had suffered a great deal in their lives. My father, to me, is blue. He makes poor decisions and ends up dwelling in a lengthy period of regret, guilt and sadness. These are all emotions that I associate with the colour blue - because when these emotions are felt, they are felt deeply, like oceans and seas. 

Purple was elegance and confidence. I thought about Elsa. 

The only other section, besides yellow, under which I'd only noted down one name was rainbow.

The name I'd noted down was Callum. 

Callum was a boy I'd met on my first day attending my new school for special children like me. He had freckles and I associated them with sparkles. I liked sparkles, and so I liked Callum. Callum was amongst the few people who didn't show many symptoms of autism spectrum disorder. A few of the kids said he was faking it but I knew he wasn't. People like us come in different colours. 

Callum was now married and had his own children.