The lady in the frame

I did not mean to be away from this space for so long, and despite my best intentions to show up here, Sunday after Sunday, without fail, life does have a way of pushing me here and there, to corners and days where deadlines are not met and plans just go pfffft. So I sigh as I surrender to what is and I tell myself I should do better next time, try again, harder, do better.

Here I am, in November, and it is but apt that I talk about faded frames in faded rooms because, well, there is something about November that makes it easy do just that. Also, I just came from an antique shop, on the most random of days, where everything was lovely, misty. There were clusters of bowls from shipwrecks, a long wooden table with beautiful carved details that I can only presume was a quiet witness to many grand dinners (oh, the stories it would tell if it could only talk!); there were armoires, old-fashioned vanity dressers, wooden beds with hand-embroidered linens from a long time past, huge mirrors with metal frames that curved here and there, bathrooms with bathtubs that looked like they belonged to someone’s glorious past, at that time when women wore corsets and men serenaded them from beneath bedroom windows.

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