I had always loved her. I knew her, inside, and out. The rhythm of her breath, the rise and fall, the swell and retreat, oh yes, I knew her, completely.
She is mine.
I hold her close to me, close my eyes to the sound of her, the feel of her, smooth and undulating under my fingertips. I caress her with my thumb.
She will always be mine…
(Note: This picture raised a memory for me, an amusement, an in-joke, somewhat at odds with the feel of this painting, but never mind. My entire family are creative in one way or another and amongst many, many other talents, my mum creates beautiful objects from clay, fires them in a kiln and from the bounds of the earth, art is born. I own a beautiful rendition of a seashell that she created, fired and glazed.
It’s my shell. Michelle.
See what I did there? Please don’t groan too loud!).