“Wait, what color did you say?” Marco shouted over the loud music on the rooftop terrace. His hands moved quickly, trying to fix the mistake he made on his new painting. The wedding guests were laughing nearby, but Marco’s mind was stuck on one problem: he had accidentally painted over the wrong spot. The purple and white he loved had disappeared under a thick layer of -colored paint. It felt like a twitch he couldn’t control, a strange pain inside his chest.
“等等，你说什么颜色？” Marco 在屋顶露台上对着震耳欲聋的音乐大喊。 他的手飞快地动着，试图修正他在新画上犯的错误。 婚礼宾客们在旁边笑着，但 Marco 的思绪却被一个问题困住了：他不小心画错了地方。 他喜爱的紫色薰衣草和白色茉莉花在一层厚厚的棉白色颜料下消失了。 这感觉就像一种他无法控制的肌肉抽搐，胸口一阵奇怪的疼痛。
His friend Lena leaned closer, pointing at the messy where the of the canvas met the edge. “That’s the problem with your style. You always paint over your own work each night, but today, your is ruined.” Marco sighed, wiping sweat from his forehead. The smell of jasmine and from the wedding tables mixed oddly with the paint’s strong smell. He thought about his , which depended on selling beautiful pieces like this. “I wanted to tonight, but instead I got stuck with this.”
他的朋友 Lena 凑近，指着画布边缘与画框连接处那个凌乱的接缝。 “这就是你风格的问题所在。 你每晚都会覆盖自己的作品，但今天，你的作品集毁了。” Marco 叹了口气，擦去额头的汗水。 婚礼桌上的茉莉花和康乃馨的香味与油漆的浓烈气味奇怪地混合在一起。 他想到了他的退休计划，这计划依赖于卖出像这样的精美作品。 “我今晚本来想放松一下，结果却被这个困住了。”
As the sun set, Marco watched the bride slip on a left near the by mistake. The crowd gasped. A sudden silence followed, broken by laughter when she stood up quickly, clutching her in pain but smiling. Marco realized then that life, like his art, sometimes had mistakes you could not undo. You could only accept them, like a set wrong or a in a salad. He stepped back from the canvas and decided to call it a night. Tomorrow, he would paint again, . After all, even a or a can bloom strangely but beautifully, if you let it.
夕阳西下时，Marco 看到新娘不小心踩到了白板旁被遗落的订书机。 人群倒吸一口凉气。 随之而来的是一阵突然的寂静，当她迅速站起来，忍着肋骨的疼痛但带着微笑时，笑声打破了寂静。 Marco 那时才意识到，生活就像他的艺术一样，有时会有无法挽回的错误。 你只能接受它们，就像接错的骨头或菠菜沙拉里的胡萝卜一样。 他从画布前退后一步，决定今晚到此为止。 明天，他会重新开始画，先到先得。 毕竟，即使是菊花或牡丹，如果你顺其自然，也能以奇特而美丽的方式绽放。
