Picture copyright: MabelAmber (Pixabay)

He looked at the finished painting and sighed heavily. With brush still in her hand, she turned around from the canvas and looked at him with puzzled expression.

“What?” she asked him.

“Beautiful as always,” he said with a smiling face. His gaze was still fixed on the canvas.

“Then what was that loud sigh for?” she asked again.

He shook his head and met her eyes. “When you started this painting, you painted the open window first,” he said.

“And?” Her curiosity could be heard in her voice.

“And I thought this window would open to a flower filled garden with colourful butterflies.” He said and then shrugged. “Something vibrant, you know.”

Her expression cleared and with a little smile playing on her lips, she faced the canvas again. “Flower filled garden, colourful butterflies, something vibrant,” she repeated his words and then got quiet. After a few seconds she spoke again. “Everyone appreciates them, but not every window opens to vibrant things,” she said thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” he said. “I get that now. Some windows open to old, rusty and cobweb covered street lamps and the grey moths trying to reach the source of light.”

©sakshi~the escapist, 2018



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