I have retreated to yellow. I have waved the white flag.
The soft, pale color of this room was soothing until I made it a prison.
I am paralyzed by my loss, unable to make sense of this turn.
The wet, grey fog from the sea has seeped through my window and made itself at home.
When I leave, I will pencil my mantra on the closet wall so they will know:
we were happy and we were happy and we were happy.