I want to do is show you...

It's kinda like when an artist displays a painting. She put so much time, energy and effort into the painting. She put every emotion they have into making that painting what everyone looks at as they walk by. They stop and stare for a moment, they smile then they walk away. The artist is putting herself out there for everyone in the world to see, waiting for that one person to walk by. When that person does come by, he stops. He looks at the painting from different views, different angles, he forms an opinion on that painting. The artist stands by wondering if he'll accept the painting, accept who she is, how much time she put in it. All he can see, like all the others, is the finished product. But he sees the timeline. He hears her life story, listens to it intensely. They're connected for that moment, however long that may be. They're held together by that painting. All the time put into that painting to perfect it just for him. He isn't able to experience it. He isn't able to feel the emotion in the painting. All he can feel is his heart speeding up when he follows the curves and lines of the contrasting colors. All he can notice is his breath tremble when he sees the images form, the shape of the times she's spent. She stands there quietly, heartbroken that he'll never be able to understand that she perfected the painting just for him. She opened up to the world just so he could finally come along and stumble upon the painting, the bumps and tears hidden from previous audiences. All she wants to do is express what the painting is and what she's gone through for this painting to finally reach his eyes, to possibly reach his heart. She can't though. He'd never be able to understand. He'd never be able to comprehend the joy, pain, sadness, heart, mind, soul, time and every ounce of who she is that she put into each brushstroke just to get one glimpse of his smile, a glimpse of that sparkle in his eye. She can only hope that he'll see it, he'll catch what she's screaming in the swirls of dye carefully placed on every inch of the canvas and he'll recognize it was all for him. She just chokes back her words, keeps her composure and watches him admire her masterpiece. "Will he take my hand?" "Will he finally understand?" She'll never be able to know. Passion for something is only felt through that person, seen through the smiles and the quick glimpses shared from across the room. The other person will never be able to fully comprehend the meaning behind the artist's work. They'll never be able to feel what she feels. Every person has their own interpretation. They'll never be able to understand what the artist wanted to say, what they are saying, what they've always wanted to say....

Will you interpret my painting? >_<