2000-2001

She carried a rock with her where she went. It was a gift from her father. The rock was beautiful, grey with a black push pin seemingly pushed into it. They were connected by straight lines, criss-crossing the rough surface of the rock making it much more ordered. She holds it in her hand and admires it often. I wanted, want a rock. I threw mine in frustration into the shallow pond to see how many times it would skip. Once, from the shear force with which I threw it. There is so much more time now, so much more perceived danger. So much time to analyze my body and those of others. To see the painfully simple beauty. And the abyss of aloneness when you’ve stripped all bare and try to make the picture replace the rock I lost.