PALETTE OF PERCEPTION

How would you paint me?

With bold strokes of intention or timid strokes of hesitation?

Am I the spectator, seeing the painting come to life, 

Or am I the subject, absorbing the artist's touch?

Perhaps you will paint by numbers, rushing to define,

Filling in the lines with colours, not of mine.

Or maybe you will sketch, taking your sweet time,

Capturing my essence in each curve and line.

Which memories will stick out as the most vibrant

when you go through your collection in search of inspiration?

Are they snapshots of our joy and laughter, preserved in the amber glow of nostalgia? 

Or do darker shadows linger, staining the canvas, casting a sombre tone of dystopia?

Do the colours in the palette hold the key? 

Or does the act of creation itself provide meaning?

Would you dip your brush in the golden hues of dawn,

To depict the warmth of my skin or the depths of my ever-searching eyes?

Would I emerge in vivid shades, a riotous display,

Or be shrouded in your muted tones of grey?

Would you dare to modify me, to reshape my form,

Or let my flaws and imperfections weather the storm?

Would you reveal my scars, cracks, and broken parts,

Or shield them beneath layers, guarding fragile hearts?

And after you are done, will my painting be proudly displayed, 

Or buried away, in shadows, a silent retreat?

Was the canvas good enough, was it truly exceptional?

Or was it just another mediocre performance?

And in the end, when the final brushstroke is laid,

Will you find solace in the masterpiece you've created,

or crave a new, blank canvas for tomorrow?