Some will pass it off as unfinished. As I stood in front of the petite Renoir, I can honestly say that it never crossed my mind. I thought she was beautiful. And so relatable. Just as is. Maybe it’s because it’s where we live. Never in the completed canvas. Isn’t it all a work in progress? Aren’t WE all a work in progress? And we have to see the beauty in that. The beauty in the attempt. The beginning. The middle. I understand this furious speed we have to get over, get through… but maybe I, we, have to just “be” sometimes. 

In all the chaos. All the incomplete. Maybe we can just rest our colorful thoughts in our hands and be. Even for a moment, to know that we can live completely, love completely, without complete understanding, to know that we never really finish…

I don’t know what the day holds. And that’s more than ok. I am mid-masterpiece.

I will never finish loving you.