I used to believe that comprehension began right there; that what eyes failed to make sense of, was insensibility. Every time a picture offers a thousand words, they claim the first to know; and if it were not through them, how would we fall for the beauty of a look?
Then I learned that deception was easiest to enter thereabout; that the pair I’ve had might lie, at times like when they suggest the bigness of near and smallness of far. When a picture offers a thousand words, they may be the first to be deceived; and if it were not through them, why have many hearts ached at the tyranny of the skin deep?
