Colors

It is a bright green, wide-eyed frog sitting comfortably on the top of my head.

It pulls the strands of hair as one would the reigns on a horse, and it guides what I think is me in the direction that I go. It croaks instructions that I don’t know I hear and leads me into situations that can sometimes be amusing and a lot of the time outright absurd.

Oh the frog has had its fun. It has definitely not failed to laugh when given the chance. It is certainly responsible for many of my scars, and probably some on others around. Apologies on behalf of the frog.
It has convinced me to migrate here and there, and play around and twist this loop he/she calls life. It has also convinced me that life doesn’t require a set path, though at the moment I think he/she says it because he/she is lost. He/she doesn’t have a clue where he/she is going but hangs around nonetheless. My frog is a hermaphrodite. It doesn’t want to choose one or the other sex either. It is greedy and it wants both.

I know this because it told me; not directly, but the frog croaks at night sometimes. At one time or another it has mistakenly left some switches on. Little did it know, I could hear the night croaks softly in the back of my mind. Apparently the frog is a bit tired with normal everyday life. It wants more change and possibly more room to move the mind around. It wants to leap from experience to adventure to encounter to event. It doesn’t want to stick to just one thing in this human’s little mind.

In the end, I myself can’t fight that. It is all in the frog’s hands.

My frog has conversations with other frogs about whether it is ethical to use me and control me this way. The issue remains and will remain a controversial issue in the world of frogs. An issue not likely to be resolved.