nights


I close my eyes. I dip my fingers into the paint.


When I’m done with one piece of paper, I set it aside to dry.


It’s so small, just one sheet. And I’m going to need so many.


I move on to the next, and the next, and the next.


It’s a giant puzzle, and I’m making the pieces one by one.


By morning, my floor is covered with paintings.


I hide the paintings under my pool of dirty water before Mack can see them. I don’t want them to end up in the gift store, selling for twenty dollars apiece (twenty-five with frame).


These paintings are for Ruby. Every one of them.

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