Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. — Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
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Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. The time had come to sand away some of that dreadful stain.

— Zohreh Ghahremani, Sky of Red Poppies
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