Portrait 4

My golden boy,

So you will not see me, you will not know me.

This was in fact the most unpleasant conversation we had ever had. When I called you, you were busy reorganising your life.

Still, you did not hang up on me. Not directly. Of course, I should have known I could not be part of it: I can provide the venue, I can watch you paint everything white, I can then welcome the audience into the vast whiteness, but I shall always be excluded.

The worst part is I cannot even be in the audience. In some peculiar manner I am the host.

This is a difficult moment. I cannot even be sure whose portrait I am.

I will miss you.

Iris