“Baby Girl” read the title of the painting at the artbook collection and she asked the grown man: “What does forever mean?”. The grown man stared at her, eyes blur, shadowy grey with an ache of red, one 'chiaroscuro' painted by time's own greatness. A small hand's squeeze of warmth and wet cotton feeling on a paper dry hand. “What does it mean?”.

The grown man stared back and looked away with the blur shadowy grey with an ache of red eyes. “What does it mean grandpa?”. Baby girl tightened her lips thin as a line, followed the thread of her grandpa's looking out and found many and nothing to the direction he was throwing his gaze. “Grandpa? Is it 'looking'?”