The supreme painter paints
on his canvas
drops of rain
while I sit by the window
and stay amazed
by the strokes of his brush
trying to reduce my pain.

And maybe we were meant to be.
You and me.

But are we, really?

No.

and i loved you like the ocean to the shore:
reaching, reaching, touching for a heartbeat -
before drawing back again, tentative.

and i missed you like the sun to the moon.
i guess we were never meant to touch.

and i forgot you like the water to the flame,
for you burned bright, once long ago,
until i turned you out and left you behind.