Worthless

I went to an Art Gallery today and purchased a piece of art. Its was a Portrait of a Girl. Long flowing black hair and eyes that set your heart aflame.

I am entranced by her in every way. Staring at this picture I have noticed every

detail about her face. From her freckles to her flaws. She is beautiful. Although I cannot recognize her from anything. I know she is not famous. But yet my curiosity of her grows the more I look at this picture. Days go by and then weeks turn to months. I pass this portrait everyday. I am beginning to grow weary of it. The Mysterious nature of it has started to vex me to the point of frustration. I have begun to stop looking upon it. Why do I keep this damned portrait on my wall? Why don't I just throw it away? I did not pay much for it so it wouldn't be a Loss. Its old, the frame is cracked, and the glass is dingy. The photo has started to yellow. I can see the Age all on the photo. I cannot even see the beauty in her that I was once so smitten by. Finally I snatched it off my wall and tossed it into the Fireplace. I quickly grabbed a match and some kindling. Between the broken glass I can see the photo turning brown as the heat grows closer and more intense. With the crackling of the wood frame I find a place of peace because her face will no longer haunt my waking thoughts. Nothing but grey ash in the pit, I turn to my study and as I walk down the hall I notice an outline of dust. There where the picture rested for so long as clear as ever. A faded shadow of weathered wall is all that I have left. Something about that shadow made my heart grow heavy. I glanced back at the fireplace... Everything inside of me cringed because now that I have destroyed this picture, that was once so dear to me, I have nothing to salvage. Now I stare at an empty shadow on the wall of what was and what is now never again.