Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, Pablo Picasso, 1907

We are strangers to each other but not to him,
Picasso; whose calculating heart gathers us, paints us, pastes us, and collages us into cubes of
of memento mori, the death rattle when a love affair ends, each of us will turn into a canvas of confession like above,
we who he loved first, last or still doesn't matter,all of us us captured and framed will beg for air eternally...