I Express Myself Through Writing
I look back on the picture on the wall.. the only picture I've ever hung in this room. It's faded and dusty - untouched since the time I put it up some years ago. A masterpiece, surely a marvel to behold. But one day - a year ago - I visited an art gallery, and bore witness to a portrait with a beauty unparalleled. I wanted to take it home and mount it on my wall, but it wasn't for sale, nor free for the taking. The only time I could stand in it's presence was in that gallery. Coming home, the masterpiece upon my wall became something disgusting and detested.. I tore it down, ruined it.
A year later, there it stands, the masterpiece upon the wall, it's broken frame and torn canvas in the light as a memory of what I had done, the regret I now hold.. Holding onto the memory of it's original extravagance that once so captivated me, the treasure I once cast aside..
A year later, there it stands, the masterpiece upon the wall, it's broken frame and torn canvas in the light as a memory of what I had done, the regret I now hold.. Holding onto the memory of it's original extravagance that once so captivated me, the treasure I once cast aside..
