“Yellows and pinks, vibrant and warm, kind of like her.” I placed my fork down, grabbing the thin white paper cloth she’d brought and wiping my mouth. She beamed. “Yeah, that sounds like her. What about mine? What do I look like?” “Very similar.” I did not want to tell her what danced around her. I did not want her to feel less than what she was. Hers was vibrant, yes, but it was a mix of reds and blacks with a hint of yellow. It was pure swirling chaos, like the edge of the universe itself.
