It was past midnight and I was passing by her room. That’s
when I saw through the window; the golden light of her study lamp lighting up
her face as she worked diligently on her desk. I felt tempted to peek in and
take a look at her creation, but then I decided to be patient and wait for the
moment when she would herself proudly display her work in front of me.
I looked at her as she skillfully made strokes on the sheet
in front of her. I noticed strands of her hair unwillingly drenched in paint; a
million brushes of various sizes lay on the table next to the lamp. A sense of
pride filled me as I saw her working so intently and she seemed so satisfied
that she smiled at her creation. But what surprised me was that she took the
painting and hid it under her bed.
The lights went out and she dozed off.
I stood by the window, staring at the dark room, wondering….
Was she scared
of possible corrections?
Didn’t she
crave for a little appreciation?
Was she
satisfied keeping it all within?
Away from
comments and opinion?
