I am not quite sure how it happened….ceasing writing…and with that bursting the metaphorical bubble of existence. Discouragement led to a slow dwindle of posts and one day I turned off the tap altogether. In the beginning there was just silence. The voice that would incessantly tell stories fell quiet, and with that my soul seemed to die…little by little. Not sure what suddenly awoke it but perhaps a painting that I acquired for a mere penny which was delivered yesterday.  According to a tattered label on the backside, it was painted in 1802 portraying a young man born in 1777 – 199 years before I was born. I’ve given him a place in the the hallway and I find myself slowing down every time I pass by. …and there I stand watching him as he watches me….silently. And I wonder who he was, what became of this man born a year after the American declaration of independence, painted just as Europe stood on the brink of the Napoleonic wars? I only know his name…Peter Heinrich Reimers…but for now he is Dorian Gray…

the picture of Dorian Gray