To tell you the truth,
I tried to turn you into a poem.
I guess I was hoping that
you'll stay,
even in paper.

To tell you the truth,
I tried to turn you into a painting.
I guess I was hoping that
you'd be able to bring back
some of my colors.

To tell you the truth,
I tried turning you into a song.
I guess I was hoping that
your voice would hush
all these thoughts in my mind.

But words are not enough,
my watercolors were all but dull,
and my piano, well, it's been
out of tune for such a long time
I don't know if it can be fixed.

I tried turning you into art
because I thought maybe you'll
be back to save me, again.

And I'm sorry for that.

You are own masterpiece,
with characters and hues and tones
I could never replace
and it's selfish of me to alter all that.

I am thankful, for you brought back
all the hope I lost in the wind,
and you are living your own life now

and it's time I do the same