There’s a cheap reproduction of a Van Gogh painting in my living room.
I like to rest on my burgundy chaise and stare up at it
Until I see only the colors.
The one white flower amid all the blue reminds me of loneliness.
We saw the real one, behind glass in a museum.
Tastefully lit, you could see the most minute brush strokes.
It was once the most expensive painting ever sold.
In awe, we stood close enough to each other that we could hold hands.
We did not.
I think I prefer the cheap reproduction in my living room.
It is not as lovely as the painting in the museum.
But it is mine, and I can rest on my burgundy chaise
And stare up at it until I see only colors
And feel loneliness
Because you preferred the one in the museum.