monochrome raze she brought me into a room i hadn't seen before. it was full of clothes. dresses and shirts and sweaters and skirts hung on metal racks with caster wheels that sat on the hardwood floor, locked into place. she showed me a black_and_white photograph a friend took of her. the print was creased from not being cared for, but the moment it captured cancelled out the physical damage. she was standing at the bathroom mirror putting on makeup. she was shot from the side in a way that showed her whole face. she was an artist at work. she was making herself the painting she wanted the world to see. "you like it?" she asked. "yeah," i said. "it's a beautiful picture." "i'll give you a copy. i've got more." i knew that wouldn't happen. i would see her with and without makeup, with and without clothes, with and without something like love in her eyes, but i wouldn't see this face again. i stared at the picture until the rest of the room went away, until everything in my life was gone and there was nothing left but a monochrome dream that wasn't even mine. i wanted to step into that scene, walk up behind her, fold my arms around her waist, and whisper something sweet just far enough away from her that she'd have to guess at what it was. no one was paying attention to her sister's dog, so he pissed on the floor. and that was the end of that. 211014 what's it to you? who go blather from