Note: Text in sketch is rough. The content below shows revision and my be revised again once moving to the painting stage.
Stolen Moments: Still short of formation, she nestles his head closely, but is unable to gaze down upon him. Her head still sits upon a shelf, slightly dusty. She does not know if she can truly feel his head against her breast, or if she only thinks she feels their shard contact. Belief vs Fact vs Faith vs Tangible Proof. She wrestles with what is provable and what must be accepted?
Is knowing enough to make it so? Or does the act of questioning establish proof of identity? Does flesh matter? Does one need voice? Fear. She feels that as well. A lurking fear that she could actually be a figment within a dream of another. Is she his nightmare? The deconstruction of his self. His! His! His! But she is her, why would she transgender between dream and consciousness. If he is the truth, then her existence is on the clock – and the sunrise she cannot feel will be her death sentence. But for now she basks with a stolen moment and it is enough to lay the foundation of hope. Or is all her pondering simple proof of madness?