Life is a Fantasy

     On this day, the sun had disappeared over the horizon and the sky, was turning dark. She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Is there any way you can take the pictures without light?”
      How could I get angry at her? There was always an excuse, and I was sure it was legitimate. I gave her a hug and said not to worry, we’d do it another day.
     And to prove her sincerity, the next time we worked at the beach she gave more than her all, with never a complaint, never a break. She  was determined to make it up to me. Marilyn was a real trooper. Even when the sun went down and the winds blew and it became cold, and she shivered, her skin turned red and her lips blue, she hardly whimpered or complained. Only when the day was almost over and I had just one last bit of film in the camera, she said, “This is for you, George.” Then she puckered up her lips and blew a kiss my way as I took the last picture of her ever on that beach. It was around 7:30 p.m., Friday, July 13, 1962.

(Source: mostlymarilynmonroe)