The Yellow comes the first time when Wait has just started. I stand with the giraffeplate in my hand, about to put it in the dishwasher. Hazel got it from Grandma, a few weeks ago. The giraffe has a strong heart because it has to pump blood through such a long neck, she said. Then it was like she didn't know what to say. The Yellow is like a shadow out of the eyelid. It is almost gone when you look for it, but not completely disappeared. A shadow that does not belong at all and which makes the heart beat in such a black way. The Yellow looks at me while I put the plate into the dishwasher. He looks at every one of my movements, forcing me to think of another heart, a heart that beats twice, or not enough. When I close the dishwasher, he disappears.
