His hands were numb.
His heart was an empty street.
The boy with ever changing hues of hair color,
Sat under the lamp post,
On a glaringly white pavement,
In an obscure boulevard.
Today his hair,
Was as green as grass.
But his heart,
Was as barren as fallow land.
He yearned for light.
He yearned for flowers,
To grow in the meadow,
That his heart was.
A phone rings two times.
He ignores it the first time.
Then, he picks it up.
And talks with the boy,
On the other end of the line.
“Yoongi, I’m worried.”
Says the smart boy,
On the other end.
“Namjoon I’m fine.”
He utters in assurance,
When he isn’t at all.
“We’re worried,
You shouldn’t stay out so long.”
Namjoon presses.
“I’ll come back home,
Let me gather my thoughts.”
Yoongi murmurs,
And then cuts the line.
He hunches over again.
The green haired boy ponders,
About how long he intends,
To let the loneliness swallow him.
Then he decides,
That he must head home.
Lest those six other boys,
Worry about him too much.