I’ve painted so many faces on you for so many years that now I’m afraid I won’t recognize you when I see you. I’m so afraid that I will walk right by you for the rest of my life. Every face I’ve painted has been wrong; not just wrong, but totally off! At least that’s what I tell myself since no real artist wants to admit that they’re work is total crap. I’ve painted so many faces. Calm and wild faces, dark and white faces, sharp and dull faces. Some I’ve painted so carefully that I was afraid of every stroke. Shaking, barely breathing. While others I’ve painted without a care. Hurried, rushed, and down right sloppy. None of them have fulfilled my desired outcome. Now I don’t even bother. All ideas of your face are not true…or at least not true for me. This whole time I believed in an image. I knew what I wanted it to look like. I knew the feelings I would want to get from it. I’m talented enough to come close but I have too much pride and I’m always off. Maybe, eventually I’ll try again. I’ll learn a new technique, find some new colors, or it will naturally flow like it’s happened to everyone else around me. For the time being, the idea of creating anything hurts too much. These creations have been more like illusions instead of desired masterpieces.