afraid to close your eyes at night you think of the pieces painted on the back of your eyelids less like Van Goghs Starry Night more like Francisco Goya's Saturn's Sun the walls of your mind holding black paintings Quinta del Sordo you are engulfed in them forgetting your roots roots that have been torn from the earth from a hand that now wraps around your waist pulling, pulling, pulling you awake and realize the hands are from a girl who paints cherry blossoms in your mind instantly you feel warmth rush through you as you press your tear stained cheek against hers