Picasso, you would understand my grandiose exchange with famed paintings is suddenly nullified as she glides past— luminescent, handing smiles to strangers like daisies. I anxiously observe. she meditates on every painting, and slowly moves to the next. I’m scared. words jumble away and rapture into flames, flames in my chest, in my bones. suddenly, I give not a damn about these paintings. I’m sorry Matisse, I apologise Monet, Picasso, you would understand. she is older than me, taller than me, an artwork in her own right. I pass her several times stealing smiles. her spider-leg…
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