I know of terrible things. I know of all the truth in the world but I dare not tell Mom and I could never mention a word to Lettie. In part, I want to keep it to myself like the flowers I pick and then hide under my bed every night in the summer, they are all dead now and maybe that says something but I keep on collecting them because I like knowing there is life beneath my bed, or life that used to be life anyways, life in all different colors, life that I control now and life that is stacked neatly side-by-side and now falling apart. So it’s like that, I guess, that there is so much to think about it that I need to keep it to myself, and I want to spare Mom and Lettie that weird pain of thinking about little things that do or don’t matter. They don’t deserve anything but the happiest of days, even though I can sometimes hear Lettie crying at night through the wall, she says it’s because her favorite character in her TV show died, but she must have a lot of favorite characters, and what is this show that so many characters die? And I was checking Mom’s wallet to see that she had enough money, if I needed to anonymously donate some from my Coins I Found Under The Washing Machine collection, when I found a business card of someone named Steven Sloane, Therapy Worker, and I think therapy is mental healing which means that she is mentally injured?
Anyways, I know of terrible things.

It’s June and it snowed today, Mom said it was just flower petals but I know it was snow, I caught them on my tongue anyways and I think they dissolved. I didn’t tell mom though because i think it made her happy, even though she was wrong. My veins look a little bit bluer though, that’s something I like to keep track of. My color wheel broke yesterday and so I can’t figure out what is the complimentary color to blue? I tried to memorize everything but I can’t remember what’s complementary and what’s supplementary, what are Red’s favorite hues?

I also learned that there are three hues, there is Hue like what color is it, there is Hew like chop down this tree, and there is Hugh like I really hope Hugh doesn’t stay in our house for long. I don’t like the way he smells like grease from cars and grease from hamburgers or the way he holds my mom from behind while she’s cooking and breathes into her neck. Necks are for cradling babies’ heads in and maybe the head of a lover, if he doesn’t smell like all kinds of grease.