As it rests in suspended stillness, I momentarily question my physical reality. As I block out the constant noise with two pointed fingers, I voluntarily question my artistic sanity. The second-hand unwinds deep inside as the memory immediately triggers my expanding mind. Two corners show shadows from a light uncovered by an intermediate shade misunderstood by the disinclined.
If I remove the delicate frame does the sealed moment still exist? Is the mounted moment real because of the lifelike picture or the vivid memory? Is the preceding memory real or is the animated picture beyond the frame my subjective reality? If the man-made picture presented inside of the man-made structure never existed would this favorable moment still be a part of who I am?
As I take my unanswered questions to another objective world, I trust the dimensional picture and not the four corners of the frame. I tear my humble heart open and know that the past is. I rip my ideas of the future into shreds and realize that the everlasting frame given is the reality as is. You may say I am a dreamer but the obscene picture I see beyond the double frame is as real as the one available inside.
If the picture I see of yesterday can be presented in a frame today, the image I know of tomorrow shall have the same audacity. The tower of yesterday inside of today will be the impression and awareness given as a painting without a frame. A picture painted brightly outside of four corners but within my forgotten name.