if you paint it blue maybe it will become the sky someday

Since for some reason we have not yet left I'm here. Kinda. Multitasking writing with painting. Waiting for everyone else to finish whatever so we can leave. Or we can stay here. Doesn't really matter to me.
Chris #1 never replied. Asshole. Oh well. I guess I won't know what happened for 3 weeks.
Speaking of Chris's Chris #2 hasn't persisted with his usual txts and such. I have been ignoring him for a while now and it's rather nice. But I'll wait till after his senior year to say I'm rid of him for (most of) forever.

The color of the sky: Light eggshell blue. The kid parents paint their firstborn child's room. Creamy. The color that carries the scent of paint and something new. Pale almost invisible clouds seep into the sky, no end or beginning.

Paint.
An new apartment, or an empty house. A vast white canvas carpet spreads over the floor of a window lit room. Scattered jars of paint, anonymous in color. A couple with care, stroke by stroke reconstruct the room. From empty white to the pale blue of the outdoor sky, slivers of which can be seen from where we stand, peeking from afar.