I am not sure if there is something worthy enough on my shelves for that title, but it's definitely one of my most cherished ones!! I didn't give it a title previously but I would called it “Bones on your tray” now:

“I love unfinished paintings, they hold the beauty of creation. Deprived of an end, immortal. For what lived is gone, and for what never did, remains. Like bones left on the side of a tray, when you “empty” a plate, they're easy to throw away and hard to chew for meaning. Never can they become a statue or a monument, but nobody erases the lines that weren't colored in. Somehow, it is not set into stone if you can live unfinished. Perhaps that thought never had an end too. It is to be seemingly uncooked if pressed on; the meat is somewhat alive, they say. With blood still curling around its flesh, holding its own hand. If you are alive, you are unfinished. Watercolor over pencil, but all the guidelines still show. Unfinished paintings are a guilty pleasure of mine, it's in staying without being whole.”

I love you, riv :(( THANK YOU FOR THIS QUESTION ♡♡