Masterpiece

The moment my life began she looked at me, a simple sketch, and saw potential. Black and white with vague definition, etched on a rough surface. But deep inside her mind’s eye – a masterpiece! Though I didn’t meet her until a few years ago, she knew me when I was my own “curious George” in a crib. When we finally collided, she spoke to me with the voice of an angel that drew me to her instantly. From then on, we were inseparable. If I told her the beginning of a story, she could finish it to the very last word. She knows everything about me! The more she taught me, the more I came to her for guidance. As I grew, she began transforming me. She sculpted me slowly, shaping humour, joy and respect. When self-esteem becomes an artifact, she moulds me a new perspective. Throughout my life I’ve travelled peaks and valleys. Looking up at what seemed impossible to attain, she encouraged me, gave me a boost, dipped her brush in stamina and carefully began to fill in the dull grey lines with brilliant beams of colour. When I reached the tips of the unthinkable, she painted me with healthy pride, covering the scratchy lines that composed my inner self. Noticing I was still lacking in esteem, she began to think of further ways to sculpt my soul. She’s always focused her time and effort on building me higher and painting me brighter. She tells me every day; with every breath I take she finds a new colour she hasn’t yet exploited. She erases my tears and as a replacement, draws felicity. The sparkle in my eyes is her talent, and my confidence is her skill. Without her, there is no me. She knows what I’m thinking before I voice it. She’s my positive influence, always encouraging me to do good rather than evil, to be better, stronger. I love her with all my heart and she tells me constantly that she loves me too. My colours pierce her eyes but she has yet to stroke on complete self-respect and total happiness, which time and words have gradually chipped away. “Well…” she sighs. “I’ll just have to get more paint.” Every now and then she notices a shallow point in her picture. She takes out her colours, goes to work shading curiosity, integrity and maturity to add depth. She inspires me to write, she inspires me to dance. She inspires me to love; she inspires me to be unique. She even inspired me to write about her. She’s always in my head and she never lets me down. I’m her masterpiece; her project and I’ll never be complete. There’s always more plaster, more colour that can be applied. I’m no Mona Lisa … yet! I am simply her working progress. She is my artist, my creator. My conscience is mine, and I am hers.