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This is you, and you forget things can be simple. Things can be just what they are. You raise your hands and cover your eyes. You squeeze them shut tight and tell yourself things are just what they are. You edge yourself along the wall and into the outside. You repeat it, "just what you are, just what you are, just," and when you feel the width of warmth of sunlight stretch over you, you pull your arms back with intake of breath, and black becomes a height of blue. Colors streak in sudden and salient and slip past their objects, streaking the clouds and corners and sky edged around. And with a smile, you finish, "what you are."