Museums

I turned a corner and saw her, whom I had only seen in pictures. And as is always the case, the visceral reality of her presence was arresting in a way that no printed picture or image on a screen could convey. My heart felt constricted and I exhaled audibly. She was beautiful. Breathtakingly so.

She didn’t see me, of course. She lay in the forgetfulness of sleep, a flush on her cheek and her body curled and soft.

She was, in that moment, the perfect image of repose: comfortable, sensual, deeply relaxed, safe. She was sprawled on a wide cushioned chair in the filmiest of gowns gathered in…