I met a painter.
He was
working on a painting.
It looked stunning.
In the trash it went.
"Awful" he muttered.
He made another.
To the trash
it goes.
Hours pass.
He exhausts himself.
His patience lowers.
His paintings degraded.
The color more dull.
The meaning less coherent.
The canvas more messy.
What was once a passionate artist
became an impatient time bomb.
Ready to explode at the press of a button.
What a shame it was.
I saw the vision.
I saw the talent.
He saw the imperfections...














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