My doctor and therapist looked at each other with wide and glistening eyes.
"Tell me more," my doctor said, writing down every word that came from my mouth.
"I don't know," I mumbled looking down at the white bedsheets of my hospital bed. "Just sunflowers, and rain, and pretty things, I guess."
The doctor scribbles notes as my therapist flipped through a file.
"Pretty things like rays of sunshine," I continued. 'Rays' I thought as something flickered inside of me.
"Ray," My therapist repeated quietly.