Twenty one years I've allowed myself to become frozen in time every moment I caught a glimpse of his work. Standing still and breathless taking in every stroke that went into his beautiful genius. His ability to make hours feel like minutes of my time was why I've always said he is my favorite artist, that no creator could ever be better. Then she took me to an art measum, pulled my hand towards one of his paintings and stood in front of me as she spewed out words of excitement. Glimpses of his flowers between the curls that fell on my face as she put her head on my shoulder. In that moment I had a greater appreciation for him than I ever have because he created this moment for us. Fingers intertwined. Awestruck fixation. Everything I had ever felt for him in twenty one years being pulled to the surface at once. Such a poet. Such a breathtaking masterpiece. As I was thinking those thoughts I realized my gaze wasn't on the painting but on her. And then I began to think that maybe he wasn't my favorite artist maybe god was or her parents or whatever source of life had created her. She was the beauty in a room full of renown art. She was the breathtaking one, she was the one that I wanted to spend hours examining every curl every freckle every scar because it was all beautiful.