Laura No. 7
Mechanical Pencil
March 2004

This is probably one of my favorite pictures of Laura, along with No. 6. I love the way the textures in her jeans and shirt, the grass, and all the background came out. We sat down in a park on the hill, a couple of blocks from my apartment, with the flatirons in the background. It was quite a beautifull day.


Sharing her most intimate space, overlapping, nose to nose, eye to eye, so close that I couldn't see beyond the clear blue of those eyes, the pale smooth white of
those cheeks, breathing the same air, the breath past her lips and into mine, and mine hers. Touching hands, and yet only hands. The gap between our lips infinitely small, and yet enough as a yawning gulf, my fingers brush against her cheek, smooth, there, bridging the gap, yet with less power than to part a hair. I loved her then; my universe passed out of rekoning before I reached the end of her. And now; perhaps, for the emotion lingers on but the one who lay next to her has faded and passed, as too she must have, but the memory, the fleeting memory, yet remains. LKB