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Authenticity
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It’s a new day,
And I’m sitting here in a yard sale on a Sunday afternoon.
Hoping someone will buy me, hopefully sometime soon.
You see I’ve been marked down, a little more each day.
$29.95, $24.95 $14.99, soon they’ll be giving me away.
I remember when I was created, with such loving care.
The artist was very young at the time, he had passion, and flair.
It was somewhere far from here, a long time ago.
But I remember his touch, his love, he gave me his soul.
And when he was done he signed his name in the corner where you can no longer see.
He sold me for pennies, he had to eat, and then the buyer put a frame around me.
Now I’ve changed owners countless times over the years.
So here I am, next to an old bike, a rag doll, and a German beer mug. Well… cheers!
But you know, that’s okay because I think I’m special, one-of-a-kind.
A picture just like me? Why, you’ll never find.
My brush strokes are brilliant, my colors are divine.
I am truly an original by design.
Look, here comes someone in a fancy sports car parked on the curb.
He’s looking at me, he picked me up and then proclaimed ”why it’s absurd!”
And so I sit here hour after hour, I don’t want to be thrown away.
Please somebody purchase me, I’d look great in a bedroom or a hallway.
The next day a woman came with a baby in a stroller.
She was probably 30 years old, couldn’t be much older.
She looked at me for the longest time and I could see it in her eye.
She loved me, as she studied my composition, I think she even began to cry.
She gently picked me up and gathered the money from her bag.
A five, several ones, a pile of change and the last pennies she had.
She carried me to her little apartment, put me up on the kitchen wall.
As her baby slept peacefully in the one bedroom down the hall.
And then she just broke down right there on the kitchen floor.
I don’t know why, who could say what had happened here before?
And then she looked at me longingly, and something began to stir.
I do believe that something in me inspired her.
She got out an old easel, some paint and a brush.
She began to work with passion, love with an urgency, a rush.
And every night when she came home with her baby she would play.
And then put her to bed and continue where she left off yesterday.
Years went by, and then one day she opened a gallery.
With all of her work filling the walls, but in her office, she placed me.
And her baby grew, and they bought a house with a backyard where she could play.
You see things went pretty well at the gallery that was open till five every weekday.
And she was happy and she would smile when she looked at me hanging there.
But then one day it was different, she just began to stare.
And she got closer and closer and studied me with an eye like never before.
And then she carefully took me off the wall and gently placed me on the floor.
She got some tools from her desk and carefully removed the old frame.
And she looked at the corner where the artist of me signed his name.
And she began to cry tears of joy from the depth of her soul.
As she whispered audibly the name on me, Picasso.
Experts came to check for what they called authenticity.
And they studied and they analyzed and well it was really me.
I am a Picasso, a masterpiece, I am an original!
And things around the gallery, well, they got a little out of control.
People came from around the world just to look at me.
she put me behind glass with a sign that said “no flash photography.”
And offers came for my purchase over the phone and e-mail.
Let’s just say they were offering a little more than a yard sale.
And then a guy came with a briefcase and a check one summer day.
She held it in her hand for a moment, then turned him away.
She looked at me and shook her head and smiled with her eyes.
“I can’t sell you, you are priceless to me” she somehow realized.
And I was glad to stay here, on this wall in her little gallery.
Because, as it turns out, my owner was as authentic as me! |
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Short Stories
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Click on the dog to view story.
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Click on butterfly to view story
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