This seems like a picture no one else will want. It resonates with me, though. The image feels like I witnessed something: my life, which is too genuinely imperfect and unruly to be aesthetic, brushing up against another being who was unfolding without waiting until the conditions were better. I thought the light was lovely, and I decided not to be embarrassed. I thought maybe I could make a picture. It’s only an amaryllis on the kitchen floor, after all. What’s the worst that could happen?