In her parent's attic we find
a drawing she once made.

Drawing of a child,
it shows the world
after it's done. Day
warm with sun,
on the skin of lovers;
rocks alive, as you or me.

It's all reminiscent
of an R.S. Thomas poem,
and I tell her so.

It will be the last thing I say
as the one I once thought I was.

She points at what
has escaped me
all along, and says:
"This is your heart.
I colored it, to my liking."

So, that's how it all began.