I shouldn’t be here; invading his inner sanctuary.
I am surprised by the number of pictures he’s drawn of my face; bothered by the images he has created.
Me as ingénue; priestess; madwoman.
The miscellanea: skulls and slinking, apex hunters; surreal gatherings and groupings.
More disturbing are the bifurcated/fractured-center-line paintings of his own face.
Dark hair; indefinable, unreadable eyes; scar from night of his break-down/that jagged line of my self-defense.
Dare I read his journals; scan his sketch-books? See deeper into the darkness beneath the skin.
Then the creak of the stairs, the scuttle of the turning knob, the shaft of his shadow falling across me and his work.
I freeze; gasp for air; sense my destiny.
Turn to face . . . .
Stream of consciousness for mlmm photo challenge 232
image: Natalie Ruka