No matter how tidy this appears, do not believe it. This sentence is merely a survival technique. Chapters only come after the fact.

In my head, at least, the painting would be blue.

She says, I like the way the light is coming in, and I try to store this feeling away for later, sure that if I can find it again things will be alright. Yeah, it’s pretty.

How do I say this? I know it will hang there if I say it. I tell him, The doctors think my mother is dying.

He is quiet. A car drives by, its headlights tracing my hand. He says, I’m so sorry.