The Model

I have mixed feelings about her. I call her "her" even though she's really me because, somehow, she is separate from me.

It's as though, when he painted me, that Summer, all those years ago, he split me into two. The other me is on that wall, all beautiful and famous. And I'm here... Getting older and not famous at all. Every few years, someone like you seeks me out and writes a story about me and then I go back to my ordinary life - buying bread in the same street where he had his studio.

Sometimes, I hate her.