if he were to think of it in depth, the fact that he had never seen her parents in real life would immediately show itself up forth. it was true though, that in all these years stefano spent very close to miss lewis, the subject of her parents (or of his) never appeared. as strange as it was. . as they had time to speak about their pasts, it always missed from any conversation. they loved to share present experiences, but oh. . what kind of conversations the photographer and his model used to have. . about the wonders of the universe, what’s beautiful, what’s real, what would’ve been like to be married. at some point, this happened just for a rule to be estabilished: it’s all about the business, fame, the money they get from all the shootings. it’s always been a thing, to hide themselves from one another.
and stefano respected that even now as she lay in a casket six feet under while a rain of pitty, guilt, maybe regret, all faked up, fell wet over the soil it’s covered with. he stood outside the crowd surrounding her ; he only kept abiding by the rule. . and this woman, a stranger, spoke truth as if she could see right through his thick layer of pure façade. stefano hardly kept himself from saying anything remotely expressive or too revealing, that could’ve somehow turn all his plans JUST upside-down.
beacuse after all. . . it’d be a shame to know the body they have burried wasn’t in fact the model’s.
' quite the miracle, aren’t you ? ' the monotonous tone in his voice remained unchanged. ' you must’ve known her better than i to make such dangerous assumptions. '
' i have never met her parents, and now that i’m able to have a look at her father’s figure and hear his speech, i’m glad. i truly am. '
a standing, stuttering, disgraceful mess that old man was. disgusting.
dededos
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
pixelskylines
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
origamiaround
