The sky was blue.

“The sky is green.” said the boy.

“What makes you say that?” said the girl.

The girl and the boy rest under the sky.

The boy blinks.

“My eyes.” said the boy.

“Don't you mean your brain?” said the girl.

“My eyes are involved too.” said the boy. “In fact, my whole body decided that the sky is green.”

The wind blew across the grassy hill with the boy and the girl laying next to eachother across it.

The girl turned to the boy.

“How does your whole body decide something like that?” said the girl.

“My hands feel the grass, my nose smells the wind, my tongue tastes green as it leaves my mouth and my ears hear the word in the moments before it reaches you.” said the boy.

The girl rolls over onto her side. She faces the boy.

“Why don't they make you say it's blue?” said the girl.

“Because they don't.” said the boy.

The boy stares at the sky for a moment more. The girl lays back down to join him.

“Normal people don't talk like this” said the girl.

“They don't.” said the boy.

They look up at the sky together. The girl takes the boy's hand.

“What do normal people say?” said the boy.

“Nothing.” Said the girl.

Clouds float by in the sky.

The boy squeezes the girl's hand.

They loved eachother.

“I hate you sometimes.” said the girl.

“Why?” said the boy

“Because you say the sky is green.” said the girl.

A cloud passes overhead.

“I hate you sometimes.” said the boy.

“Why?” said the girl.

“Because you don't tell me it isn't.” said the boy.

The boy and the girl are silent.

“Do we disapear when we stop talking?” said the girl.

“No” said the boy “We still have our hands.”

“We still have our hands.” said the girl.

She smiles.

He smiles.