Picture Hanging on the Wall

I was a Painting.

She was a Photo.

For she had depth and meaning,
Capturing life
And immortalizing a moment,
Developed through the dark,
Yet still coming out
Beautifully.

Whereas my purpose is surface level.
My depth an illusion,
A trick of the eye to make you see me
As more than I really am.
Just a thin skinned canvas
Who will tear at the slightest pressure.

She became art in a flash.

I became art after second guessing every move, every brush stroke
Meticulously planning before I ever saw color.

So we both worked hard to be framed.

But my god, I am so lucky to know

We can stare at each other for hours

And still see something new