I tried to adjust myself a little too the right, you see. But, lopsided chaos was all I got. I tried to tilt to the left, but I almost fell from my precarious perch. I searched for maybe a better place on the wall, but was pushed by other frames down to where I am. I pulled myself up from the ground and found my rusted nail. I hung my picture back again….yet still a crooked tilt. I tried to walk away, you see, because, the picture wasn’t right. I couldn’t walk away, you see…because it was the picture of my life.
I took my hand and pushed my frame to make it straight again. But I pushed too strong and hard, you see, and the frame hung upside down. I felt embarrassed, just a tad. The man saw the whole ordeal. I blushed a red that I’ve never had and stared down at the floor.
He stepped away from his frame, you see, and put his hands on mine. He adjusted gently, oh so rightly the frame I couldn’t hang. My blush was almost gone, you see, replaced by laughing joy. My pictured looked more straight, you see, than it ever had before.
He walked back to his frame and tilted his head once more. I saw that maybe I could help. A friend must be a friend, you see, when a need is there to meet. I left my frame for a moment and walked in front of his. I didn’t even have to ask. I knew he’d let me pass. He’s that kind of man, you see. Gentle, patient, kind, and very caring all the time.
I tilted to the left, and I leaned a little right. Picture perfect imperfection, and I slid the frame in place. I smiled to myself, you see. Not for what I’d done, but because I helped a friend in need and gave a frame of time. I heard a thank you from the man, as we stood and looked at life.
The frame is outward, so you see, and the picture is the heart. We helped just the beginning, you see, for we didn’t know the heart. I stare at the wall of frames and see billions hanging there. All are crooked, all are scarred, and all a little strange. Picture perfect imperfection… that is all we are. Trying to live, and place, and know a life that will be hard.
I look down at my hands, you see, and there is finger paint. It’s splashed and spread, and rich and red to love anothers heart. Red is love, and hands will paint in spaces that otherwise couldn’t be.
I try to place my painted hand upon my picture frame. But I am missing the point, you see. This love cannot be loved on self, it must be loved on someone else.
So I look to my side, and see him standing there. His face is finding mine, you see, he understands the finger paint. He understands the picture frame. We switch our places now, you see. He stands before my frame, and I in front of his, you see. He grabs my hand, finger painted, smeared with love for him.
Then he takes his other hand, you see, and puts it on my frame. I take his cue and place my hand upon his picture frame. Then just like that and very clear, the red reveals the picture. The red reveals the heart. For love cannot be loved on self, it must loved on someone else. Every hand is red, you see. Red with finger paint, meant to reach anothers needs and hold anothers heart.
Picture perfect imperfection, that is all we are. We cannot help ourselves, you see. It’s helping others, that’s the key. We are crooked, tilted wrong, perched on rusted nails, scarred, and old and often lopsided, we need anothers hand.
So look around at picture frames and reach for painted hands. Because, love will tell what frames cannot and paint will show what pictures are. I am still picture perfect imperfection, but I’m growing now, you see. Because he holds my hand and helps me walk in the places I should go, and he gently paints in spaces that I could never reach. I do the same for him, you see, because two is better, always better, always better than one.
Picture perfect imperfection, stop only seeing you. Find the frames and reach for hands that need love within their heart. Fill in spaces they can’t reach in ways that only you can paint. It’s up to you, I hope you know. And, I hope that now you see.