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.