Gray

They seem to love or hate him,

Depending on what they've heard about him.

I feel so very different from both and yet so agreeing,

Do I love him?

Or do I hate him?

Yes.

Both.

I went back to the house, while nobody was there,

With a pencil and paper in hand.

Lying on the bed that had once been his,

I began to write.

Fantastic stories of ghosts and kings,

Powerful maestros and weak links,

Of course, the star of every story was him,

Assuming one identity, only to trade it for the next.

I came to call him, "The Man Who Has Lived a Thousand Lives,"

Even though he had only one heartbreakingly short one.

I love him, for his sweet and giving personality, his childlike nature, and rightfully placed heart of gold,

And I hate him for his easily manipulated ways and stubbornness when push came to shove.

It's easy to see the world in black and white.

But gray?

I've always believed in gray.

Do you?