I wanted to see something in her.
I deformed her to make her better.
In my eyes. Maybe I thought that she
Needed to be moulded by me so that I could
Own her. I would sadden her inconsolably.
She was her own person or was looking for herself
Until our paths crossed and we met with our masks on.
I thought of her as a poetic body
From a different time, misfit and
Longing for things she had no idea
She desired. And we revolted without
Understanding why, without knowing
Who we were and why we had a certain
Chemistry for a moment in time.
“Woman with Grapes” by József Rippl-Rónai (1861-1927)