we are everything we hate.

"Everything you can imagine is real."

- Pablo Picasso

----------------

Woof.


She jumped a little, startled.
It was just the neighbour's dog.

Sudden realisation;
she had spent the past thirty minutes
staring out of the window,
lost in thought.

Had she a mirror in front of her,
she'd have seen her face -
deep in thought,
yet with a slight smile.

In front of her lay a pencil
on a fresh piece of paper,
awaiting her touch,
her flow.


She picked it up and began to sketch.


The tip of the pencil grazed the paper delicately
as she divided the page into two.
She had a brilliant idea -
portrayal of fairytale and reality.

The fairytale was full of trees,
a forest of happiness and make-believe.
The reality was full of trees,
a forest of sadness and devastation.

She was loving it,
enjoying every moment of it.
It felt like she was losing consciousness.
The contrast was too beautiful.


Finishing touches,
gently completing the last few strokes,
she could not resist a smile.
She loved it.

She loved how beautiful a fairytale could be.
She loved how beautiful an escape it would be.

She loved how reality seemed harsh,
yet the trees made it look beautiful.

She loved how everything fell in place nicely
within that piece of paper.
She loved how she could draw it all out,
all her emotions, all her thoughts.


Woof.


She jumped a little, startled.
It was her neighbour's dog.

Sudden realisation;
she had spent the past thirty minutes
complete a beautiful drawing,
lost in thought.

Had she a mirror in front of her,
she'd have seen her face -
deep in thought,
yet with a slight smile.

Looking down to admire her drawing again.
She saw a blank piece of paper.

Where did the drawing go?




Where did the first stroke go?








Where was the line separating fairytale and reality?

----------------

M.

and need.