paint
We’ve begun moving Rosie to her new room, and two days ago I painted it a color she chose — a lavender-blue-gray. Seeing the color on my legs and hands, it looked like a bruise. Then going through each room of our house in my head, I realized that every color on every wall is the color of a bruise. Except for blood red accents. Closets that, when opened, are red like an open mouth; window trim like red-rimmed eyes. The skin of our walls is really skin.
