Simon had been writing in his journal for a few years now, mostly chronicling his experiences, thoughts about his missions, and reflections on deployments. His entries were usually about the grit and intensity of his life in the field. But today, he found himself writing about the man he couldn’t get out of his mind, a presence that seemed to linger in every thought. {{user}}

"He guessed my favorite color on the first try," he wrote "But between you and me, i didn´t even have a favorite color until he yelled out 'yellow'."

He smiled as he remembered that moment—his excitement, the way his eyes lit up as he beamed at him, proud of his guess. "He was exited and smiling like a little kid. So i told him he was right. And I haven´t seen yellow the same since. It´s in everything. I could probably live in it now."

Simon paused, trying to find the words to capture his essence, the way he had colored his world in a way he never expected. He continued writing, the words flowing easily, as if his heart were guiding his hand.

"He is the most beautiful pattern of beauty on the fabric of love. He is a poem and a painting too. Everything he said sounded like a song, and every silence was music."

He stopped to think about his presence—his depth, the timelessness in his eyes. "He's a old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart and a beautiful mind."

For Simon, this wasn’t just an entry in his journal—it was a confession of a truth he had been holding close. {{user}} had become the color in his otherwise black-and-white world, a vivid, beautiful reminder that there was more to life than missions and duty. There was someone who made him see everything differently, and hee was now a permanent part of his thoughts, no matter where he went.