She watched her daughter's frantic hands spill the crayons onto the floor. Purple and blue wouldn't do. Lavender was what she wanted.
How they both missed him. How he would have loved the drawings on the fridge.
He had always been the one with taste. Boldly metrosexual. Distinguishing heather from lavender.
Bloody stupid drunken driver...
Posted in reply to this by Chamique.