Passing Time

Every time I looked at the painting on the wall, I liked it more. At first I had thought it was painted by a talented child.

When the adviser mentioned that the painting had been done by an adult, I judged it differently.

I was not impressed.

Still, I found myself sneakingcopyright-kkwhitmore-2016 peeks at it as the meeting moved on.

My focus improved each time I stole a glance.

The artwork had real meaning to it. It symbolized something.

The colors were nice.

Perhaps there was purpose behind the childish appearance.

I took one last look when I walked out the door.

I’d like to paint something like that.



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