A painting hid under several layers of dust. Covered in a white sheet. Memories. An old painting, one that is familiar.. A madonna. The paint holding the secrets to her beauty held within the fine tip brush strokes. The embellished border sporting forgotten paint and small cracks, however on the painting itself remained uncracked. As if aphrodite herself recognized the beauty of this belle. Magic. Is it okay to want to cry? Memories of distant yesterday's float around, the old reasons come back for the same cravings. To get away from it all. Lost behind thin pages of parchment and hard covers, not seeing or hearing the world around. Wanting to just disappear and press flowers that are pasted on tea stained canvases, with black ink swirling in between. I need a way out.