They posed for the sake of the shoulder. They saw it odd to stare straight and smile, waiting for a flash like we do these days (we don’t mind the blind). He might have combed his hair with his fingers first (his wavy white and gray). She might have smoothed her skirt (even though it would never appear). One cannot think of her own death when posing (unless she’s prepared). He got it right after the second try. She the first (her parted lips start to say ‘I don’t have all day.’) I want to wear my hair like hers (it takes great care to wear one’s hair loosely so that it uncoils slowly through the day). I want to navigate the straits of his face into that wide foaming open. I want to see myself the way others would dream me and then look away.
TVC Writing & Art 