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“What brings you up into the heavens, with paintbrush in hand?” she asked while a grin ghosted across her face.
I did not reply, but instead I stared into her eyes and allowed her to see my soul. She nodded with understanding’s comfort and turned off her light. She felt the strokes of my brush, as care met the hardness of obligation. It mattered not the color I painted her… only that I cared.
I will never apologize for the color of my opinions.