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Not Quite

September 22, 2014

She lay on the bed, alternating between reading a book and napping. I worked on the floor, crouched over several yards of unstretched canvas. Periodically I would get up and talk above her , watching the light play over her skin, the way one of her eyebrows arched, the flash of glass-blue in her eyes as she turned away from the window. All these hundred things I saw, or more properly, absorbed in instants. Sometimes I would lay down next to her, and then my skin my nose my ears would see her.
What was I making on the floor on that unfurled canvas ? Not quite a portrait, not quite a map, not quite the diagram of another human being.



Picture 153

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