The furious strokes of a masterpiece

Her masterpiece was complete.Her palette was in a mess.Color lines blurred.But it was exactly how she had envisioned her masterpiece would be.Perfect.Maybe the invisible wounds of time made her reminisce more.The past seemed more perfect.She furiously brush stroked more.Added more colors.Added more bold lines.Added more vibrancy.She was finally done.She breathed in ,took a step backward.She could no longer recognize what she had done.Had she painted unknown utopia ? Sweat beads trickled down the curve of her moon face.She lay down tired on the naked floor.The sun beams reflected off her perfect masterpiece.The colors almost blinded her.The city noises were now only an insignificant hum in her thoughts as she stared blankly at the blank ceiling.She was carried away back in time.Was she craving a perfectness that never was ? Did she really want that ? The obvious blemishes of the past seemed to be calling out to her from her canvas and yet she smiled.Yes , she had suddenly learned to smile.A slight stream trickled down her eyes.She could feel her smile when she tried to feel the tears.

~A , mulling contemplating