“She would be yellow.”

“Huh.”

“The tulip, that is.”

“Yeah?”

“I think so anyways. She’s different. Maybe it’s the light in her eyes. Of hope, or lack of it. A sad glimmer.”

“Oh.”

“Or is it happiness in every word she says? I could never be like that.”

“Mmm.”

“She could be a poet. I think she could. The way her mind perceives the world. Intriguing. Uplifting.”

“Uh huh.”

“An alien, almost. Not in the bad way, like when people talk about the illegals. Not even alien, just different. A friend, though.“

“Ok.”

“Januka. I can tell she’s chained. Chained to her past even though she’s aching within. You know you can feel it when strong desires seem to radiate off of other people?

“Eh.”

“She’ll grow. Like the tulip, I mean. You see how it grasps the sunlight? That could be her. I think so at least. Januka.”