Hands graze the fine plastic
wrap that crinkles as I touch the only
barrier protecting the images that
have taken root in my head
as a memory. My chubby
cheeks point to the sky with
arms stretched out wide and feeble
efforts to catch the raindrops. Sometimes
I wonder, did this happen as I painted
in my head, or have I convinced
myself after seeing the images
enough times. One might never
know the thoughts going through the mind
Of the girl in the one piece outstretched in
the rain, but future fingers flipping
through the montage of images will
be beckoned into a story
of perception.