Dear friend,

I will never know you, but you will come to know the lines of my face more intimately than I ever could. Just as I came to know the portrait of the old gal man that came before me. He kept brushing his imaginary hair behind his ear each time the camera shutter clicked open.

Dear friend that I will never meet,

I saw a colour I could only describe with my eyes closed. And so I closed them to give the colour a name, and never open them again. All that remained was the smell of ink on my fingers and the rustle of bamboo.

So, remember my friend; you may be alone at the end but you need not be lonely.

Thandi Paterson

 

PARIS58

 
 
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