Between tea time and dinner, my mother would watch her shows, with her headphones on.It was quiet and I had some time to try my hands at watercolors.
In her bedroom. on top of piles of books, are some family snapshots,casually placed. My portrait must have fallen at some point, cut in half by some strange mishandling or haste.Here I am, at eighteen, captured by an young photographer, a forgotten admirer.
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