by Christos Polydorou
What are you doing, my love?
I am painting love, as you are imagining it.
It is so perfect.
Thank you. There is just one thing.
What is it?
Now that I am done with this picture, I am going to have to leave.
And what am I supposed to do?
You can either bang your head against this wall, or walk away.
Were you even ever here, to begin with?
I didn’t so much deceive your eye as stripped it of layers of blindness.