Under her bed

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?