Colours. That's the first thing I remember. As a child, I already had vivid dreams. The most colourful one returned time and time again.

First I was in a dark environment, the colour of a low note. So low that you are not aware of the constant humming, but you still notice it if it suddenly falls away. Then broad bands wrapped themselves around me, as a vibrating tone, and even if they hadn't surrounded me, it would have felt like an embrace. I melted away and then a ball exploded in front of my nose in a waterfall of hues that all could have been the laugh of someone I care for and the shreds burrowed me. Bright dots floated in between them as warm – no, cold – no, warm – I don't know – as water droplets. I began to fly, faster than the wind, and the colour that waved around me, sparkled like that, too. At last, a whirlwind of fragile spots with a colour like the sharp scent of thyme dragged me down. Every time I woke up as if the world was a fluffy cloud. Or my bed at least. Back then that was half of my world. The memory still leaves a peaceful feeling behind, but that was my childhood. Now ...

Enough meditation. I press on my watch and the metallic voice tells me that half eight has already passed, and I still have to get up. I might be well-trained, but I'm not that quick, unfortunately. At half past nine, everything has to be ready, because Andreas will be here by then.

I'm almost out of sandwich filling. Damn, I'll have to find my way through that bloody city yet again one of the following days, unless Andreas brings something for me as well. I'd prefer to live amid the green, but then I wouldn't be allowed to live on my own because I'd be too difficult to get to - mainly for the assistance services, that is. Fortunately, Andreas will take care of the food today and tomorrow. And of the other practical stuff. I only have to bring along my personal items, which are only my clothes and my painting materials.

***

Dull knocks on the door reverberate through the hall. The acoustics of my apartment are a little too good.

"Ringing the bell like a normal person certainly isn't possible, is it?! I'll let you climb in by the balcony if you continue that way!" My hand glides alongside the walls while I walk to the front door.

"I've already rung three times, but you didn't hear me."

"That shit bell stopped working, you mean. I'm not deaf yet."

"Good to see you."

"Good to not see you. Not hearing you would have been even better."

"I can make you deaf if you want."

"By all means, don't."

"Are we going?"

"My things are on the table."

We take the elevator. On a staircase, you can trip just a bit more easily and with a broken leg, I'd be completely dependent for sure.

"Don't sit on the backseat. I put the tent there already."

"As if I ever sit on the backseat."

"I just wanted to make sure. You don't have to look so angry."

"Very funny. Besides, you're standing behind me." I install myself on the passenger seat.

***

I know it immediately when we're on the Ring. I scrunch my nose. That damned odour!

"Did you eat a lemon?"

"Don't you smell something?"

"What? I didn't do anything!"

"Not like that. Either you lost your sense of smell completely, or else you've driven around so much amidst those stink bombs on four wheels that you don't smell them anymore. How can you stand that stench?"

"You just smell twice as much as a normal person." Andreas' grin seeps into his words.

"However you put it, those cars stink to high heaven – well, their fuel – and if you opened the window, it'd bother you as well."

"Opinions differ."

"But that smell says something about how good those exhaust gases are for their environment. We should have chosen a more environmentally friendly mean of transport."

"I'm willing to go by tandem if you can tell me how we should take the tent, your easel and my telescope with us in that case."

"Touché." I listen to the tires on the road and the rumble of the motors. "And yet we're not exactly environmentally conscious, and all that traffic here with us."

"I know. I do my best." I smile at Andreas' indignant tone. "On foot, by bike, public transport, this is an electrical car, ..."

"A horror for people like me."

"You don't know what you want, you."

"I'll think it through another time to find the ultimate solution and for now just bear the smell."

***

"We're here." Andreas's voice drills a hole through the clouds around my head. Finally. I open the door. "Beware of any puddles."

"I've got boots on and I can't see them anyway."

"You could be careful. Don't spat mud on my car."

The sun is shining. Now and then I hear a leaf rustle. With a bit of luck, the grass will dry quickly since it's warm. We've chosen a good moment to go camping. I sniff. Wet grass has the scent of new. Like wet paint, but better. Wouldn't they have invented that yet, scented paint? One for every colour. Then I'd be able to distinguish between them more easily as well.

"Sandro, can you help me to carry the tent?"

"Where are you?"

"Do you hear my voice? I'll direct you then." I walk around the car. Couldn't he unload the tent on my side? His hand on my shoulder halts me. "You're there. Okay, you just have to take over the end of the tent and step back. ... You alright? ... Yes. ... Stop. Now to our private camping place. I'll lead the way. ... Straight ahead. ... To your left. ... Stop. Thanks. We'll go look for the remainder of our stuff."

"It was about time."

"I can't do everything on my own."

"I'm sorry. It's just so fucking frustrating that I depend on you for everything."

I feel in the trunk for my bag and my easel. Andreas lets me. After, he leads me back to the field, his hand lightly on my shoulder. "Is there a spot in the sun?"

"Don't get too demanding." He chuckles. "I'll be right back."

"I won't run away." I spread the plastic that I always put under my easel over the ground. I prepare my paint, but now I don't know in which order the colours are.

Andreas is back and sets up the tent. "Andreas, can you help me for a moment?"

"One second, I'm almost done." The grass rustles due to his footsteps. "What's up?"

"I need your help to paint."

"Only if you'll look at the stars with me tonight."

"That will be difficult."

"You know what I mean. I'll tell you."

"You have to tell me where the different colours are."

"Okay, uhm ..."

"Take my hand. That's easier. And start at the left."

He stands very close behind me now. His breath tickles my ear. "This is red, next to it green, blue, yellow, white, ..." At the last cup, he still holds my hand. "But how does this help you? I mean ... To you your hobby, but ... you can never see your paintings anyway. You don't even know what you paint."

I'm silent for a bit. "Yes. I can everything but that. That's why you have to be my eyes, like you are when we watch the stars and for everything else. You have to tell me if it's good enough. I can't live without you. Thanks to you, I can see."

"Sandro ..." He kisses the nape of my neck. I stiffen. I knew it. He's never said that he's gay or that he's in love with me, but why else would he do that much for me?

"Andreas, you know that I ..."

"I know you don't want a relationship. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"It doesn't matter. As long as you don't suddenly get afraid to touch me because I literally can't live without you if I want to actually live a little."

Het lets go of me. "Do you still need me?"

"Your company."

"In that case, I'll sit on that plastic of yours. Don't trip over me." I dip my brush in the paint, but before I can even draw a line, Andreas asks: "But how do you do that actually, with those colours? I still don't understand why you paint and how you make sure the result isn't vomit-inducing."

Sigh. "Painting is not only a visual art. To me, it's like a kind of dance. And paint has a smell. While I paint, I can feel where the paint is wet and afterwards I feel the texture. I only can't taste my paintings, because I don't want to poison myself."

"So you paint by intuition?"

"Kind of. Memory, feeling and knowledge. There's a lot of theory about colours and painting too and I can easily learn that."

"But you don't know the concept of colour, do you?"

"To be honest, I sometimes still dream in colour."

"Weren't you really young when you became blind?"

"Three. Most people do forget how colours look, but I remember because of my dreams. I also still notice the difference between light and dark, but I can't link the names of the colours to the colours I see in my dreams."

"So if I say green, you don't know what to imagine, even though you've probably already seen the colour green sometime."

"Exactly. I can the colours in my dreams only describe in a non-visual way. But in fact, you could help me."

"How so?"

"By doing the same thing as me. Describing colours in a non-visual way. Let's say ... red. What does that colour feel like, how does it sound? Apart from theory I already know and associations with red things."

"Red is ... a G. A ... Like the air when it's just warm enough to go outside without a jacket."

"And green? And blue?"

"Those are the ones I find the most beautiful. Green is like the scent of blossoms, like the sun on your skin, like feeling the first snow melting in your hand. Green is like ... No ..."

"What did you want to say?"

"Nothing. I ... I wanted to do something."

"What is it?"

"Green is like this." He puts his hand on my cheek. I provoked it of course. What else did I think than that it was going to be that sort of thing?

"I'm glad you want to be here with me, but ..." How can I say this?

"That's where friends are for."

"Not everyone would try to tell me how green looks."

"Green is a colour like you. You are like green."

I frown. "Am I a colour? And what colour are you then?"

"Blue of course. Blue ... is like a hug from your mother, like letting a strawberry melt on your tongue, like someone's breath on your skin, like the smell of the ocean." The words tumble over one another.

"You seem in the flow."

"Does this mean you can imagine something about those colours now?"

"I could that anyway, but I'll never know for sure. But your comparisons are beautiful."

"Thanks. Something I can do for you at least." I smile and put my brush on the canvas.