The veil covering

on the bright white box was

ripped off

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