• A copper framed canvas mounted on the wall collecting dust for ages. Each careful stroke forever etched within those linen. It was a masterpiece. The only masterpiece he has ever made.

    Now he sat uninspired, demented and poor. In health, wealth and spirit. Colors from his pallet mixed in an amazing array but somehow he has lost his touch. His life forever cursed and went steadily downhill. He hates every sunrise and cursed every sunset.

    Not so long ago he held a wonderful dream. A dream of paintings and fame. Now he lives in a shabby shack too dimly lit by a single candle and the pale moonlight.

    All those days of glory only left that single canvas. No dreams are left for him to see in those resting time but it was not an empty one. There are nightmares to torment every misdeed he have done so in the past. He paid the price. But he knows it was too costly. It took away his life of wonder and happiness. And so he lived as a hermit.

    All the while she who loved him watched and broke her heart over and over because of him. Constantly, she pushed him forward to fulfill what was there left for him until she was tired. What she couldn’t accept most is that how he had given up everything. With just a single failure he had given up. The dream he had created was not entirely his and his alone. She hoped to be apart of it someday. If only he could see how dearly he was to her. But instead he withdrew himself from humanity until he was out of her reach. Now she packed her bags to leave what she always thought was something wonderful.

    “You’re leaving? I thought your leaving ‘morow mornin’?”

    “I was leaving today on an express train.”

    “Be careful. I think it’s going to rain,” she looked outside but it seems a wonderful beginning of spring. A fresh start.

    “No, it isn’t.”

    “Bring an umbrella and come back as soon as you can. I’ll cook dinner,” he said easing out in his rocking chair.

    She stepped outside “I won’t come back,” she whispered as she closed the door.

    “I love you,” she heard as her tears fell from her eyes. A final goodbye.

    Indeed it rained. That morning ride on the express train to her hometown was chilly all the way. ‘Bad weather,’ She thought.

    She left only to realize she could only stay away but could never really bid goodbye. A week later she was riding a train back home. Back to him.

    He was waiting. In his white shirt and torn jeans. He was still handsome in the pale morning light as he had been a few years earlier. She was surprised he was there but couldn’t speak because she was too happy she wondered if it was a dream.

    “I know you’ll be back,” he said smiling.

    “I—I,” she said stuttering.

    “Shhh…” he put a finger on her lips. “I love you.” Tears welled from her eyes. She felt his lips touched hers and she wished time stood still. “I painted you. You are the most wonderful work of art I’ve ever seen and I have been blind for a long time. Come and see.” He led her to the wall with a copper framed canvas. No longer rusty or old but a single smiling face that was familiar to her radiated.

    “It may never pass for a masterpiece. But it will always be a masterpiece for me,” his voice echoed.

    That day a single funeral march rang. He was buried underground with a single soul shedding tears for him. He had been dead soon after she walked out the door. But he was satisfied. He knew he was. The most beautiful masterpiece he had met was her.