When the sun rises and the clouds are away, the light enters the room and paints the walls in a warm color.

So I come in to wake up the little girl who lives here. When I whisper sweet words to her ear, she smiles. When I caress her back, she laughs. And that laughter paints the air in a warm color.

But quick! She’s in a hurry, as always. She jumps up and leaves me there to look at the pretty things she has chosen to surround herself with. Things that she made, things that she got, things that were offered to her, things that touched her.

And even though she’s already downstairs, the mere sight of her pretty things paints my heart in a warm color.

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