Commitments.

You placed me between your responsibilities and your passions,
A painting on one side- your first, I presumed- and a schedule on the other.
You highlighted different parts of my body, carefully selecting those that appealed to you most.
I noticed a pattern. My contours seemed to attract you more than my valleys did.
But you were a tease, for you ignored my existence completely, almost immediately
And I was left longing for your frequent, optimistic glances and hopeful smiles.
The pain that your lack of attention to me caused was insignificant
Compared to the agony of the uncertainty of you ever arriving at your destinations.
I watched you delve into the frustrating depths of your commitments,
The painting beside me withered and so did you. You shriveled into helplessness, dying.
It ached me and I needed you to look up to me once more, with eyes filled with dreams and aspirations,
But I waited patiently, and it paid off. The day finally arrived, as I had known it would,
When you let down your hair that had been neatly tied in formal buns for far too long,
You returned to me and packed me in your bag which held nothing but your passion-
Your camera and stationary, and a few dollar bills for gas- and you drove away.
My heart leaped with joy as you never looked back, your only determination now
Was to see what you had only pictured so far; your only appointments
Were those you had set tentatively.  Your only destination was nonexistent.
You were free and, my love, I cannot, for the life of me imagine what I would have done
If you had not allowed me to be useful. I would, perhaps,
Have remained on your wall, withering like your painting. But you gave me life
And you gave me meaning. I was no longer an accessory to your house, I was a map.
The map that guided you home.

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