I am a wall.

I live in the park, above a patch of grass and under the bright blue sky.

I have a rough, jagged and scratchy texture, and I am the colour of yellowed limestone.

I serve no purpose because the trees on either side of me make it very easy to climb over me.

I think I am pretty.

I see you walking towards me from the horizon of the grass.

You are pretty too.

You are wearing a beige hat on top of your silver curly hair that falls around the sides of your smiling face.

You are carrying a box of colourful things.

You stop right in front of me and put the box down and take something out of it.

You point the thing at me, letting me see that it is cylindrical, white,

and has a button on top of it.

You press the button, and whiteness comes out of it and onto me, making me white too.

You move it around, pointing it at other parts of me,

and you take other colorful objects out of the box.

You draw graffiti on me until you don't, then you take a step back and look at me.

I am now a wall with a picture on it.

I can't look at myself, but I can feel the colour on me.

I feel it is a picture of a man with pitch white skin and black hair with a bald spot.

I feel he is wearing a yellow shirt and is holding out a bottle of beer in his hand.

I don't think you look like the man you drew, but I do think you feel sympathy for him.

I see you pick up your box and walk away from me.

I think I am even prettier with the yellow-shirt man on me.

I get bored, for a lot of time passes.

I see you again walking back towards me, but you are not the same.

You're dressed in black and you don't have silver curls and you're not smiling.

You are, however, carrying a box of colours.

You set it down beside me and take a purple object out.

You press the button on it, and part of me becomes purple.

You do this with a few different coloured objects and leave again.

I can feel the colours you put on me, but this time, I can't tell what they are.

I feel they are just blobs on me, with some purple here, and some blue there, and specks of red all around.

I think you might have covered up a bit of the yellow-shirt man.

I see you walking back towards me with your long hazel hair and blue dress, and you brought colours again, and you decorate me again, and you leave again.

I'm intrigued, because this time they again feel shapeless, and the man again feels smaller on me, and the other shapes you put before also feel smaller, and it also feels like more of me is coloured.

I'm now confused, because you come and leave many more times, and you never draw any more men.

I lose count of your visits, and after your reddish tail sweeps out of view, I feel myself yet again.

I don't feel the man anymore.

I am not the colour of yellowed limestone anymore.

I just feel an abyss full of colours and nothing else.

And I think it is pretty.