Consumed

The portraits have consumed me. The rawness. The visual narrative. Words seem superfluous. Yet I can’t leave it alone. There must be a few eloquent words that an author can add. Even if she is being a photographer today. Rest says the jet tearing through the late afternoon sky. Sleep on it say the birds plucking off the last plums. Trust in the process says the paint on my walls. You know you can do it says every bone in my body. I am exploding with ideas but too tired to follow through. Tomorrow I sigh. A demain. Manana.

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