I stood by the window, watching the sunset.
Florence had a low skyline, filled with cathedral domes and bell towers.
The sun slipped out from behind the clouds, bathing the entire city in a warm orange-brown glow.
It was a color Stanley could never tell apart.
He couldn't distinguish ochre from burnt umber. Couldn't tell the difference between orange-yellow and earthy yellow.
Back then, I would tell him, "This one is ochre. This one is burnt umber. Just remember the color codes."
And he did. He remembered the codes and the formulas. The combinations that would satisfy his clients.
But he couldn't remember to ask if my eyes hurt. Couldn't remember to come home earlier when I was waiting for him. Couldn't remember to submit the marriage application that had been collecting dust for th
