The veil covering
on the bright white box was
as hurriedly as if a drink of water
at the end of a sprint.
The bag tore open
and the pieces spilled onto the table, a few
running off the edge. Meticulously,
as a sieve, she began searching for those
with a flat edge, the frame to her work.
Friends, students, apartment mates lent her help,
but a thirst for boredom only lasts so long.
Monotonous exercise draining,
no shows to watch, they headed out.
It became a chore-
A hassle to scoop up a frustrating thousand
only to never even so much as prick oneself
on the needle in the haystack of a match.
She sat there alone, painstakingly testing each one,
going through the combinations
of three thousand plus. In her thoughts,
it was simple- an image that
needed to be completed and
displayed, the hidden emotions of the painting
shut away in a thousand locks,
and finding the two meant to be
was by no means
Every test was a chance
to find the One,
and even if a hundred were wrong,
there was still one that was right
in that white box.
She stayed, patiently,
listening for each