Photographs of the first part of The smallest woman

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He returned years later. I offered him his photos, I still kept them. On some occasions, longing for the time I spent with him, I looked at them slowly and carefully. Franz rejected them with a slight smile, away from the pain they once assumed. Then he handed me a sealed envelope where, handwritten, featured the title of this book. «I would like you to read it», was all he said about this matter. I’ve never seen him again.

After reading his text, I thought I guessed the context in which each of his photographs had been taken. It was I who allowed the freedom of titleholders.

The smallest woman

November 2015