The Overlooked Muse

"Am I supposed to be the model on that canvas?"

The voice came from the corner of the room. The artist, mid-stroke, turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

"You?" He chuckled, dipping his brush into a deep red hue. "Why would you think that, Maple?"

Maple, the golden-furred collie, stretched lazily, his tail flicking against the wooden floor. His amber eyes studied the canvas, filled with bold, vibrant flowers in a perfectly arranged vase.

"Well," Maple huffed, "I’ve been sitting here this whole time, posing quite elegantly, if I do say so myself. And yet… flowers?" He squinted at the painting. "I don’t even like flowers. They don’t even move!"

The artist smirked. "They don’t have to. Beauty doesn’t always need movement."

Maple snorted. "Oh, so I’m not beautiful enough?"

The artist put down his brush and leaned back, studying the dog. "You’re beautiful, Maple. Just… in a different way."

Maple’s ears drooped. "A ‘different way,’ huh? That sounds like a fancy way of saying ‘not worth painting.’"

The artist sighed, wiping his hands on a cloth. "It’s not about worth. It’s about the story I want to tell with this painting."

Maple tilted his head. "And what story do flowers tell that I don’t?"

The artist hesitated, then looked at the bouquet. "They speak of patience. Of quiet elegance. Of how even something fragile can stand out in a world full of noise."

Maple was silent for a moment. Then, with a sly wag of his tail, he muttered, "So… you’re saying I’m too loud for your art?"

The artist laughed. "You? Loud? No. But you don’t belong in this painting, Maple."

Maple rested his head on his paws. "I suppose I’ll have to settle for just being in the room, then."

The artist smiled, picking up the brush again. "Not every muse gets put on the canvas, Maple. Some just make the work better by being there."

Maple sighed contentedly. "Fine. But next time, I demand a portrait."

[voice]

Much like in life, we may believe we are central figures in someone's narrative, only to realize we were never the subject they had in mind. But does that make us any less significant? Or is true worth found not in being noticed, but in simply existing, regardless of whether we are placed on the canvas or not?