Memory

Pieces-of-YouPlay-the-Hand-thats-Dealt-You

In my studio I have a box of photographs of someone I don’t know. I know the people who loved her, they say I loved her too. Once, I sat in her lap, she kissed my forehead but I don’t remember any of it. I am surrounded by her things, a haunting co-existence, always reminding me of my betrayal.