“I used to dream about the color blue,” I say, and I feel his surprise. He leans in a bit closer, and I don’t think he realizes it. The twig’s scars mirror the ones on my hands. No longer able to sustain new life. “Layla had painted a shade so unique, I thought it would bleed into my hands. It was a painting of a quiet sea and gray clouds. I’ve never seen a color like that before in my life. And the more I looked at it, the more I wanted to see the real thing.”
