You remind me of a painting I own.
A woman seated on a sofa.
She stands out.
The sofa and wall are one colour.

She wears a black dress.
Her black hair is in a bun.

Fine features, thin neck and wrists.
Hands folded, she's leaning.
Her pose is somewhat twisted.
Her face is long and slightly odd.
Can't tell if she's smiling
or judging.

Maybe just an unimportant scene
from a salon. Maybe not.

An impression she sees something
that we don't.

Like she's mocking.
Maybe just cynical or disillusioned.
I'm nothing like that woman.
I had an accident. I lost my sight.
I was taken in.
I'm fine here.
Safe and well-cared for.

That's all.
No, there's something else.
I don't know.
Let's say I can't lie.
Even if telling the truth
is difficult.

How do you know you tell the truth?
I just know, that's all.
- Letters from locals?
- Yes.

May I?
Go on.