Chapter Two - Maybe? Maybe not

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  • Dedicated to Viktor Takishima
                                    

Each and every single one of them.

The frames on the walls, the ones she set on the tables, the ones over her mantelpiece, next to the stack of books in the bookshelf. Every single frame was empty.

There was something vaguely depressing about it. I wasn’t sure why but my thoughts wandered off to the frames and portraits hanging in my own houses across the globe. All filled with memories. I repressed a shudder. It was almost as if I could feel the cold emptiness in the frames.

I turned back to her, she was dressed in a white turtleneck sweater and jeans. She was watching me silently and I had the distinct impression that she was analyzing my reaction. I carefully gave nothing away. Yes, I’ll admit I was curious. I was very curious indeed.

“Where are the pictures of your frames?” I asked keeping my voice casual.

She tore her eyes away from me and followed my gaze.

“There aren’t any.” She spoke.

“There aren’t? One normally doesn’t keep frames around if there aren’t any pictures to keep in them.” I said looking at her.

“Well…” she spoke biting her lower lip uncertainly. I found the gesture faintly distracting.

“Yes?” I frowned intrigued.

“It’s nothing, I just took them out.” She answered.

“I don’t mean to pry, but why?” I asked despite the fact that it was none of my business, for all I knew they could have been pictures of her ex lover or something or the sort. I bit my tongue, cursing my curiosity.

I was in for yet another surprise. “They weren’t pictures of anyone, they were just quotations and sayings…” she answered turning towards the frame on the mantel piece.

“Quotations and sayings?” I said rhetorically, my eyebrows rising in surprise. It was the last thing I could have expected.

“Yes…sort of.” She answered.

“May I ask, of whom?” I asked intrigued.

“Oh just random authors …some known, some unknown.” She said turning back to me.

“Do you still have the pictures?” I asked.

“Yes, why?” she replied.

“I wish to see them, may I?” I said genuinely interested to see. I reasoned it was just curiosity, but I wished to see them for different kind of reason all together. It was very rare for me to come across a woman who claimed to love me and happened to be an intellectual. Perhaps, I was over thinking it, after all she was just a stranger I had just met but I wished to take a peek into her mind through her pictures.

“Em… why?” she asked as if suddenly self conscious.

“I just merely wish to see.” I smiled at her encouragingly.

She tucked a lock of wet hair behind her ear as she considered my request. “Um, alright.” She consented.

She went over to the marble mantel piece and slid open the top drawer. I followed up behind her as she rummaged in through it until she found a small stack of 5” by 7” color photographs.

I extended my hand forward arching an eyebrow, “May I?”

She handed them to me. And I began to sift through the pages, some of the quotations were inspiring words but the authors were almost all unknown. There were inspirational quotes, on love, on life, on death, on success and almost every wake of life one could imagine. I read through them I had to grudgingly admit that it was an impressive collection. Unusual, rare and truly what one could call ‘gold dust’. She had several which I continued to read; the quotations were characterized in beautiful fonts and imposed upon fitting background images. It was creative and innovative. I came to an abrupt halt when I saw one of my own words from a well publicized case on one of her pictures.

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