"You play with hearts and I play with words. We are both artists in our own way.
You can manipulate hearts to crunch emotions. I can manipulate words to pour hidden ones. We are both artists in our own way, aren't we?"
..
And I was supposed to be your masterpiece. The one that you worked on for weeks. But sometimes even artists downplay the power of their own art.

You shaded me with gray...

But in that secluded gallery that windy night, people interpreted me in their own personal way.

Then I realized, no matter how much you have morphed me over the years to be a shadow of your accomplishments, a reflection of your ego, I am still me.
I am still a mystery to everyone else.

As you listened to the gathered crowd quietly, you leaned on the yellow back walls of the gallery, *awestruck* unable to fathom how people couldn't your understand your vision, your interpretation of me.

I smiled as the onlookers discussed if the dark patches on me represented sorrow, darkness or sacrifice, or if the bright spots were joy, satisfaction or freedom.

I realized, I was yet to be discovered.
I was yet to be understood.

At half past ten, she entered my frame...

She stood there looking at me for hours. Running her eyes through every corner, every crack, every stroke, every curve. She looked at me and understood me for who I wasn't.

She could see that I was just a blank canvas, forced to be a painting.

As people started to bid, you finally realized my true value. You didn't want to lose me, tried to hide me away from her. But she was the highest bidder.

Now I hang on her walls, my new home and slowly I can feel myself fading..


© Rr