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The curious case of the disappearing woman

During the wild rumpus, there was a moment of respite. Facing an art gallery, I was awestricken as I witnessed a half formed female holding a suitcase.

You could see right through her.

My thoughts as I stared at her, in no relevant order:

Women can't have it all - it is a twisted illusion, something's gotta give. Career, family, friends, travel, art, music, free time? Yes? Nope.

There is always a part of you hidden from the world.

Women give and give until their very own flesh is hallowed out.

When you travel, you start filling yourself in.

You never really know anyone.

You never really know yourself.

Black holes also exist even within ourselves.

She has lost the love of her life.

We caught her at a moment of transformation.

I immediately fell in love with her metal frame and recess. In the words of Outkast, I love who you are. Love who you ain't.

She is though as steel and can still be drawn and attracted madly to and by magnets of abstractions, and catch the eye of ordinary people and shift them from passive observes and forces them to engage.

She stood there all night, handsome and serene and looked out across the crowd singing and dancing as they fêted the music. At the same time, she was inside herself, lost in her thoughts.

You might say, she wasn't all together there.


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