I never clamed much of anything. Looking around my home I see a painting. Stolen. Its acctualy a pretty good story but still, its stolen. I cant claim it as mine, although I love it. I have a tendency for that. The stolen.

I once stole something so pretty I knew I could never keep it. But yet its there. My perfectly fine art, not mine but hell; shes smiling, so it could be worse. She wont stay though, I think. I think therefor I am, or I hope I am becouse she thinks of me. Although shes only smiling. Im nude, that smile scares me as much as its makes me happy. I smile back.

Her left brest is awkwardly placed in relation to the rest of her body. Perfection in imperfaction. I smile. I wonder if she knows why.