Odd. Off. I’m the final whiff of milk a week gone from the expiration date. Off. Off-putting, maybe. My eyes, again. Too green, like neon. They don’t really glow-in-the-dark, that’s the light from hallway.

She said that, today. My shrink. “You have the greenest eyes! I’d bet...” Yes, you’re right, luv.

I read a spectacular sentence today. Let me find it.

“Each of us is more than the worst thing we have ever done.”

It isn’t trite or banal, it’s not an inoffensive platitude. It’s the we that is the I in each of us. We can take-it-to-heart and say, “I am more than the worst thing I have ever done.”

I’m accustomed to dressing in blousy clothing to hide the skin that hangs from my oversized bones but I was able to hide my water-filled body from her M.D. eyes today. Imgonnahaftagotothehospitaliknow. Not that hospital.

I had a nickname. Krypto. Kryptonite. My eyes, you see; you see my eyes?

Emeralds are just too damned fragile.