Pressed Up

Something about the way the sun was shining, and how the shoes were laid out. Maybe, too, it was the earthy fabric of the vest, draped over that one mannequin. The well-worn suitcases. The acetate lamp shades. Even the oiled canvas awning. All of it looked like you. It pulled at my heart. Quickly, before the light changed, I snapped a picture, thinking that this was as if I were snapping your portrait. If you were a shop window, you would look like this. Nobody else looks like this.