Later on the bed you were humming your favorite song and I watched you from the bathroom door. You made me remember times with my aunt before she died. How I watched her from doors, tending to the children and humming to them. You made me remember nights I spent under bridges wondering what owls do during the day if they wake up. The sheets on the bed were red and you were all tangled in them. I stood there until you fell asleep and I left to go on a walk in the city.

Of course I thought about my uncle, too. I thought about how he laid jokes down on the dinner table that nobody thought were funny but I laughed anyway. I thought about the children and how they had to watch him rot in his jail cell, and how they cried over it all. I felt sad and happy for him, though; passing away must have opened all types of gates I can’t even fathom.
My brother once told me that only 5% of the ocean has been discovered. Even though they have found monsters I can’t even imagine, only a tiny amount has been discovered. I think of her brain in the same way, I have had dreams where I dive right into that and find treasures, memories. But I can never bring them to the surface. Your humming is my favorite sound I can imagine. Red is my favorite color, because I can’t think of any new ones.