There is a girl who speaks to herself in the language of colour. Hardly any other tongue makes her comfortable yet she must use of that fat soft reddish-pink budded thing nesting inside her mouth to lie with others. People love to flap that reddish pink thing, which is sometimes whitened and dried out from disuse, after sleep. Hers is hard and white and an embarrassment. She sees and speaks far better with her eyes. Oh Sight, she whispers wordlessly, O Sight, you are my might, you have chained me, insatiably calling out to be heard loud and clear, have you misled me and blundered my thoughts?? Yet you are my first love, for every truth is written in your gaze if your language be theirs.
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