Your grandmother's sick, has always been sick, sick and skinny and fragile and pale with tubes ever since you can remember. When you were born she gave you a jewelry box with pale yellow like your room she'll never see and pretty flowers like your garden she'll never see and a pretty ballerina like you she'll never see. It was from her but not from her and one day you left it, you left it outside in the rare rain with your common markers and it stained the box all sorts of pretty colours and your mother was upset, because this beautiful box your grandmother couldn't see was a birthday gift from mama's mama.
But it doesn't matter because Grandma won't ever see it. It's prettier this way.
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