Green
He always loved the color green.
It was on his shirt and hat, true, but that wasn't the reason why he always loved it.
To him, green was more than what he wore. It was a symbol.
A symbol of identity, of being set apart from his brother.
A symbol of luck, like a shamrock or a four-leaf clover.
A symbol of life, like leaves on trees and lush grass on the ground.
A symbol of boldness, for there were times where he felt like he could paint everything around him in striking colors with his words and actions.
A symbol of national pride, for green was one of the colors of the Italian flag, one of the colors of his heritage.
It was as if he could take the color green and conform it to him. To his body, to his face, to his mind and to his spirit. With the color green, he could make a statement.
With the color green, he could be remembered.
With the color green, he could be—him.
He would always have a soft spot for the color green.
