Shame

"You touched me and left a mark. You touched me so many times, that the marks became a field. In the center the field became a cloud, and a figure emerged, that was us together. When you get close, I dissolve. When we're close, there is no more me, I am no longer a thing, anymore. I am not a thing when you are close. You are too close to see me, there is only the feeling we have. The marks your fingers left, the smears, because when you touched me you weren't so careful. You let your feelings move your fingers. Sometimes when you look at me, you think I am ugly. Because I am a mess, like so much built-up gum on the sidewalk. I have to accept how I look. I don't have a story. But I am here for you to touch me, for you to be in control, like you want to be. When you touch others I am sad to be alone, to not be close to you, and I don't know if that is jealousy, but I can't do anything, anyway. One day you will be finished with me, and I will belong to someone else. Then, you will miss me, feeling that you cannot touch me anymore. Unless you keep me for yourself. Please, thanks God, for everything you have given me. You have given me everything," said the painting, to the artist. —ME

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