The Canvas

All I could see was a faded portrait that looks like a princess. Looking from afar I couldn’t see the artist. So I drew closer to satisfy my curiosity.

There was someone painting that I couldn’t see. But I saw a beautiful wooden paintbrush tracing the face of a faded daughter. The colours were beyond description. I’ve never seen such living colours that kindle your spirit to life. Where did he get those colours from? I asked. While still pondering, I saw a hand glittering in shinning splendour holding the brush and painting stunningly. At that sight, my heart skipped beating so fast and leaving me breathless.

I started seeing what looks like my eyes, my nose, my ears, the shape of my mouth. The picture was so dazzling that it kept drawing me closer. The more I stepped forward, the more I see a reflection of what looks like me on the canvas. My mind asks ‘could that be me or someone else’? No, that can’t be me. The portrait was too beautiful to resemble me. It shows no hint of the wounds nor the scars I bear. How could something so beautiful look like me? No, there is a mistake here. Who is painting this portrait? How come all I could see was a hand holding a brush. So I yelled out, “Hello, who’s there? Can you hear me? Hello?”

Then I heard a voice like the sounds of many waters. Suddenly I could sense who the painter was. His presence began to fill the atmosphere, stilling my heart and possessing my mind. I turn around to trace where this presence was coming from. But He was everywhere. Inexplicably my heart got caught in an orbit, in a rhythm so intense that all I could do was close my eyes and get drenched into the never-ending presence that filled the atmosphere. And when I finally opened my eyes – there it was in His hands, a finished masterpiece portrait that could only look like His Princess.
And that was me in the magnificently painted Canvas.

He said you are BEAUTIFUL. How do you see yourself?

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