The sparkle never left her eyes, and maybe that’s why she was a child to them. Yet no one would truly want to endure the pain she went through for her. She used to cry, tears drying up on the slippery, cold, hardwood floor. The room smelled of fresh paint with a worthwhile bed, though the grassy hills called her name to show her the distant sundown stepping behind the horizon.
To have the urge of rising in the early dawn to ride on her blue fiery cycle to feel something amidst the disappointment. The painful realization she cannot run away from a life she lacks control of. Instead she begins to wish, one night after another, for a feeling she never felt but knew existed.
A little girl with curly untamed hair swiftly drifts away out of the barely opened garage aggressively escaping into the empty curved road. The front tire rattles against the uneven pavement as she leans down, quickening her momentum within seconds. Only the glowing warmth of the sun’s rays blowing behind the pine trees and lush bushes brought freedom to her breath.
Seeking a grateful expression became a humanly unhealthy obsession. With a heart pure like silver, it had allowed to bend and morph into unaligned beauty only to be neglected and worthless. “Silver is a useless weapon!” Or so she had been taught to believe. Had polishing her gem for others to see and appreciate resulted in facing their own dented reflection? After all, such a precious and bendable material can become tainted by dirty hands!
Bending thou art for another artist’s eyes drains the color from the paint. Suddenly, every red shade looks a hue of brown or green and shiny borders become dimmed. Although the art in a museum is all full of expression, as some without color and others full of rainbows, no artist punctured another’s canvas to fix the picture. The museum holds beauty of all forms held to a high standard as every art and their artist is admired and respected. No true respectable artist drains someone’s art with their unamused glare.
[To be continued…]
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