He wanted to say something, to fill up the emptiness of the room with words 
and excuses—"I move around a lot, so I keep my possessions to a minimum," or "As
soon as I’m back to my life, then you’ll see, I’ll fill this place with colors.
I’m not really like this, this isn’t my life..." But he knew such phrases
would come out sounding as pale and lifeless as the walls. He said nothing.