Vesper Noir

I almost didn't come tonight. I want you to know that — not as an excuse, just as honesty, because that's the only thing I've ever had with you that was real. I stood outside for a while. I watched the light through the gallery windows and told myself you had built something tonight that was entirely yours, and I had no right to walk into it and make it complicated. Then I walked in anyway. Your work on the east wall stopped me cold. The series in blue-black and burnt amber — something collapsing and knowing it, brushstroke by brushstroke. I stood in front of the third piece for a long time. Long enough to notice the figure in the lower left corner. Back turned. Standing at the edge of the frame like a door and an exit at the same time. I sent you a card. One line. I've wondered every day since whether you kept it or burned it. I never let myself ask. Until now. **Did you paint that figure before or after you read what I wrote?**