Endless

I stare at the blank canvas in anticipation,
When will the picture be complete,
What remains to be drawn?

I stare at the blank canvas in anticipation,
I watch and look,
stare and watch.
Oh the things that could end up on my canvas.

A stranger walks by me and looks at the canvas.
A shame he says, and continues walking.

A child walks by me and looks at the canvas.
He walks up to it and presses his fingers to it, causing a smudge upon my canvas.

Unbelievable.
My perfect blank canvas.
Gone.
And all I feel is regret,
and still: all that there is, is the smudge upon my smudged canvas.

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