The next evening I find myself leaning on my kitchen counter, phone in one hand, his card in the other.  All day I have been coming back to this spot debating if I should call or not.  Why I am I being such am idiot? This is the only thing I can seem to keep asking myself as I replay yesterdays events in my mind.  I can't understand why I have not simply forgetten them completely.  Yesterday was as uneventful as any other. At least it should have been, but for some unknown reason I can not get the man out of my mind.

If I simply call and act as if I want to know more about my picture then it wont be a big deal.  It is not really a lie either, I am curious about my picture. I want to see what he saw in my face.  I want to know what seemed so strong that he had to capture it on film.  The feelings, the ones I try to keep hidden from the world, I want to see how they look to him.  If he can see them then he must have a great eye because no one, in all my years on this earth, has ever been able to see past the smile I wear.  No one had ever stopped me to tell me they could see the emotions in my face and I want to see what those emotions look like.  I mean, why shouldn't I want to see what they look like? After all they are my emotions.