Mourning Woman, Egon Schiele, 1912
Leopold Collection Vienna, on loan to MOMA
It was all about the sex, of course. Isn’t it always all about the sex?
Oh, sure, I’d like to believe he loved me for my mind. Or my scintillating conversation. Or even my outrageous sense of humor. In fact, I’d like to believe he loved me at all.
I’d even be happy just to go on believing he was my best friend.
Along with a discerning eye and a never-ending battle with gravity, age brings wisdom. I’ve cast off the ill-advised beliefs of youth and now embrace a new reality-based religion.
Think me a cynic, do you? Yeah, well, I suppose I am. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.
And now you’ll have to excuse me. It’s time to put on my hat – you know, the one with the black veil so no one can see the laughter lurking beneath the tears – and go say bye-bye to my best old ex-friend Ray, deceased.
* "My Best Old Ex-Friend Ray" is a line from the song Operator by Jim Croce.
Written for the Tenth Daughter of Memory