Being

Isn't it the hour, not the minute, that makes the portrait whole. Sucking on her like a burning cigarette. So afraid the ash will drop before you've finished.

Was there nothing there. Or is there nothing left.

The empty bottles provide an answer. But her smirk asks a different question.

So young I was then, though I didn't know it. Just trying on the overalls. Adjusting the straps. Draped in so much denim and still feeling naked. Just learning the zipper. Realizing how powerful it could be.

The lure of down. The strength of up. I could've controlled them. Or at least myself. But it was too soon after just having discovered how young I was.

The decisions I gave away to strangers. The hurt I welcomed.

What more was there to want.

I looked closely at it. So sure it had to be looking back.

But it never was.