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Four too much, but two too little. The myriad of pastel colors beckoned to her, and her eyes focused on the candles like a kleptomaniac. But how to reach them?

3 feet 8 inches. Tiptoeing only added so much—her toenails had gotten too long.

A rusty piano chair was dragged out from underneath the once beloved black and white keys. The B and C dissonance resonated through the high, cobweb lined ceilings.


Pink, blue, green.

Pink for the ribbon on the gift she had dreamed she’d have.

Blue for the passport she was never allowed to open.

Green for the tablecloth, not a wrinkle in sight, laid on the dinner table.


Waiting was silence, but silence was not waiting.


Red for the wailing firetruck, red for the carefully drawn lipstick on the sobbing woman’s face, red for the sympathy casseroles.

Red for the picture perfect icing on the cake, waiting, still waiting for its candles.

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