I don't know who you are anymore. You're different, a mystery. I don't like it. You're favorite color used to be green, now it's blue. You used to wear simple white shirts with a leather jacket. Now it's striped shirts that come all the way to your neck. No leather jacket, no white shirt with grease stains that sometimes showed off your tanned chest and the tattoo of our initials. I think that's gone, too. You must have had it removed. And you used to wear a silver anklet on your left foot, now it's on your right. You used to wear Chuck Taylors, now it's some blood red high-tops that make you look stupid, even though I know you aren't. You dyed your hair black. Your beautiful silky blond hair black. When I first met you, you were a mystery. I liked it then. I didn't know you then. I do now, and you've changed, becoming a mystery once again.