The Subject: Fragment

Love is the extra effort we make in our dealings with those whom we do not like and once you understand that, you understand all. This idea that love overtakes you is nonsense. This is but a polite manifestation of sex. To love another you have to undertake some fragment of their destiny.–Quentin Crisp

I saw her photo and had to write about her. Won’t tell you her name. That’s not part of the deal. I tell you her story. Or, what I think her story is anyway. She’s a beauty. Young and fierce. She’s her own woman. I love that about her. Yet I’ve never heard her voice or held her hand. This woman is a force to be reckoned with. I’m proud of her. I’m honored to write about her.

Fragment?

Never!

Ebony

Rose

Ripped stockings

Her story

Her scars

In ink

Sapphire eyed

Tousled raven hair

Lethal high heels

Inviting lips

Displays wicked grins

Perfect nose

Fuck you attitude

Knows her mind

Her soul

Her father’s daughter

Soft-heart

Straight Edge?

Maybe

Probably not

In her darkness

She sparkles

She glows

She shines

Completely unaware

Of her phenomenal brilliance

She and Her Subject

“A picture is a secret about a secret, the more it tells you the less you know.” ― Diane Arbus

She looks through the viewfinder at her subject.

What’s in her mind we’ll never know.

She sees beauty where we see monstrosity.

She sees happiness where we see torment.

She looks through her viewfinder at her subject.

What’s in her heart we’ll never know.

She sees life where we see mortality.

She sees freedom where we see shackles.

She looks through the viewfinder at her subject.

What’s in her soul we will never know.

This is her art.

Her passion.

Her life.

With a press of a button.

And click of a shutter.

The secret is captured.

The photograph is a sight to behold.

For when we gaze upon it, she has made sure that we are transformed.

Forever.