I’m the only one who knows about the wolf, and I’m the only one who knows that if the light hits the canvas just right, if it’s deep-orange end-of-the-day light and it comes through the window from the side at just the right angle, and if you know what you’re looking for, if you know exactly the right place to look, you can still see the five black buttons. Not the way they were, not clumsy and thick, but more like shadows. Like small eclipsed moons, floating over my heart.
