After an eternity of staring at each other he said for us to compose some intricate “Thank You,” cards. Bewildered, we asked “For who” or “Why” but he simply just stood there saying one phrase: “ You need more color!” I tried to devise a introspection to what this may indicate. I thought of crayons, colored pencils, and markers. They were all in the same drawer. I stared at the black complexity of drawers wondering if that was the thing he was saying without saying. My sister didn’t seem to care about my dad chanting “More color.” I unsteadily reached for the edge of the hazel chair, of which I was poised on. Gracefully, I pulled myself up and onto the ground as if it took no strength at all. I ambled over to the organized drawers and opened
