Mine to Possess

I settled into the house in London......a stylish three-story brick Spanish colonial on Park Lane near the corner of Chapel Street directly across the street from Hyde Park and just down the street from Grosvenor House, the townhouse of the Duke of Westminister.......

 

.....yet it was not home.

I went out searching for something that would give it warmth, something that would comfort me in the long stretches of time when I reside there alone.
The walls were so bare and I thought perhaps something upon them...something to bring them back to life....would be the answer.
I chanced upon a shop a short walk from the townhouse, ducking inside to procure shelter from the weather, and found there a treasure trove of paintings that were unlike any I had ever seen before.
I was captivated by the style of the artist, and shuffling through the offerings, I chanced to hear a commotion in the next room, which I discovered, upon inspection, to be the artist herself.
Her selection of color, the adherance of paint to the canvas, depending upon where she had chosen to place it, were unlike any I had other seen, and then I saw the masterpiece.
She was actually painting my sanctuary, and the time I spent there in asking for guidance for the rest of my life, and I was at first suprised, then offended. She had intruded upon my life, my space, into a place that was solitarily sacred to me.
I had to have the painting.
But no matter what I offered, she would not accept.
She refused to part with it.
I felt the anger rising, my blood boiling, how dare she! She had seen something of my life that was sacred, secret, something she was not given permission to see. Not from me.
That she could have refused to give me what was rightfully mine....I was livid with the thought of it.
This is mine to possess.
No one will deny it to me.
This is my battle to win and I shall prevail.