What We Imagined

Before the walls collapsed, they were vast and full of color. We lost our security deposit the day we moved in—Evie slathered the hallways with blues and yellows, painted roses along the window panes so the morning sun cast squares of red light across the tiles of our kitchen. In the beginning, her paintings made the world swing wide open; our tiny house became infinite. She painted on everything: her shoes, old jam jars and empty tissue boxes, the handles … Continue reading What We Imagined