You have been a guiding post.
I envied the articulate, aggressive woman who moved the world, with her words. Her strong and silent partner, standing like a rock behind, but never ever obstructing her, haunted me. I chose to remain single, because I could not find anyone like him. Men have always been around, but none who could measure up.
Words were your tool to influence, mine is the brush. My art is understood and appreciated by very few, and I have always felt inadequate. Why did I not possess the ability to reach the masses, with the written and spoken word, like you could, so effortlessly? Images have a strong impact on me, and I can express myself only through the visual medium. I have scanned all the words that you ever wrote, but my mind recorded and processed those, only in images. Words as I see and hear, are images, and I am a living collage of all that you poured out.
Mom, I do not remember your living presence around me. You repaid Dad for his unstinting support, by following him in his grave. I grew up, only with this picture of yours, hung on the mantelpiece.
Inspired by Sunday Photo Fiction