You sit on the step of the old porch. As you sit there you peel off the old paint, and stare at it. It's all faded and worn out, and you think And wonder what it looked like after it was painted so long ago. So much to be done now. As, you sit there with the paint in your hand, you think isn't life like a painting. You fade as you get older, and you to will be forgotten later on. Each paint is different in its on way, and you are too. You are different from the others.