They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Picture perfect would then be framed by verbs, married in thirds: subject, predicate and punctuation, exclaim it for elation, jubilation or just to be extra, kinda curve it and dot it if the marriage is in question.
Picture perfect to me is the method, not means. Steady climbing, mountain tops... picture the alps in the backdrop. Advancing rungs not collecting rings an’ tings. The scenes ever changing rising higher so it seems... Legs grow weary, lungs grow thin, both growth though, so... picture perfect is seems is constant motion or perpetually like the grates on escalator rising to the next floor. Whether on or off the picture maintains the same score. Picture produced by motivation, directed by concentration, starring patience, co-starring persistence and the cast list visits every emotion, perpetually and every eye that glances this perfect picture sees, senses and delights in its splendor. Although enigmatic, the dynamic, never static imagery entices and allures.
Onlookers captivated very subtly, individually finding a different theme and purpose to grasp, take past and remember it by. The perfect picture resonates. To the Lonely it speaks of compassion as a destination. Leaving behind the assumed genetic limitations, personality's inclination to fear public places, speaking, toilets and scenes. The perfect speaks on confidence to the same. Doubles Lonely's lub-dub to trust fun and self and let fair be well. Lonely stares inside the frame and sees an unnamed rain drip and precip' slowly and once the rain is recognized as "pain" the drips grow deciduously, perfectly, and as the onlooker watches their pain pour away the volume of freedom, the extolling exultation, the release speaks peace and harbors joys in the onlooker's eyes...and those same eyes bare rays like sunshine now. Sunshine that peaks as the perfect picture's rain ceases and as the pain ceases the eye's rays begets sun-showers more powerful than any tsunami because growth… is the onlookers destination, an escalating destination like the metal grates rising to the next floor. Finally out of the basement, the onlooker leaves the perfect picture wanting nothing of loneliness but all of life and more.
Four eyes peruse… then land. These two? Hand in hand, they too see perfection. Escalating grace. A union unbounded by pride and pretentious particulars. They see... what could be. If love lays, lures, leads, allows and leaves legacies, longevity and legitimacy stains all over their loins, limbs and likings. The four eyes see in the perfect picture similar to what they feel in their interlocking fingers. It is an indescribable feeling really...not to be expressed eloquently or too frequently... not to be manufactured but nurtured... the imagery is intense, its passion is immense within the frame. Imagine a silhouette framing the fortitude of their desire...painted free-hand with the softest strokes, dipped in the pallet over and over and over, to produce, no, to express their intimacy with the same effervescence or bolder as they grow older. An immovable fondness...an impenetrable bond… it's Holy, it's pure, it's Adam and Eve before the adder, apple and greed. It is picture perfect love and it gloves their clench...it binds their eyes within the frame… it's her last name becoming his last name. It’s a forever kinda picture, not a portrait...more of an image.
The next pair of folks to stare within the frames: their eyes turn from glaze to daze, almost looking through the images limits. Memories of a scene quite like Perfection's theme. The image takes on a day. The day is almost exactly the same as a day that seems to relate to the viewers in a cold, captivating type of way. The day? Friday, the day after Christmas. Not a gift to receive but a gift to release. The stronger of the onlookers was going Home. Although he was welcomed Home, all the world was devastated to see the stronger of the onlookers go. But inside this frame they see comfort. Not many images of the Strongest of the three bring the remaining two to a smile. But this perfect picture fills cheeks in style. That daze that was once a glaze now amazes the two ... "Yo... I loved that crazy dude" "Word! … Me too." Not too long ago any thought brought salty, saturation. Now their eyes gleam and glisten in admiration. The image reflects the Strongest of the three and his admiration of the two. Picture a toddler and another little bother: two bothers held in the arms of big brother and he forgave the little bothers for bugging and bothering. Playing, tussling, fighting and recovering. Father and Mother in the background of the painting… finger waving and forehead shaking. No sorrow, no salt, no saturation just joy. The perfect picture painted the perfect setting for reminiscing. It took time too... for the paint to dry. It took time... much time for the strokes to heal. Picture perfect framed comfort and no mirage ever felt so real.
Their joy grows a crowd. The perfect picture is watched by the masses now. The enamored was once a pair, now the room is filled with hopefuls from everywhere. Chorus of murmuring, at first sharing theories and queries. The picture escalates... Some feel warmer. The crowd grows into a community of onlookers. The mural motivates... points some to paint... to pick up the brush and in turn escalate. It fosters a forever love...reminds the interlocking fingers of what they’re holding and keeping away from.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words...some beyond the margin...running away from the frame. Some a bit more tame, allowing the laws of language to embrace. The painter-picture relationship becomes symbiotic. As the painter paints...as the author creates, the page and frame grows to perfection. Coincidentally, within this connection, the creator benefits from the release: stroking emotions within and beyond the seams, developing dreams and capturing peace. The picture grows to perfection. The creator cultivates in succession. The audience… hopefully you followed with progression.
