In English, we’re learning about Winston and Julia in 1984, but it’s 2017 all I want to study is you.
I want to study less about the control and freedom Big Brother has and more about the calculation of your moves.
I want to study the way your knuckles could be an infant’s home, small hands reaching out longing for you or the way the veins in your arm makes abstract art, beautiful enough to be showcased in any gallery.
I understand now why they say “as pretty as a painting.” Because you’re as timeless and breathtaking as Mona Lisa.
And your blue iris's, swirl with dark and light tones with a slight a golden glint, I could stare into them for longer than any Starry Night.
Maybe, I’m just better suited to an art class. I want to learn the primaries so I can swirl them all together and get your dark brown hair. I want to add the most expensive white, so I can paint the faint freckles on your nose and
I want to mix blue and red adding water until the colour is a perfect match for the faintest birthmark on your shoulder.
Instead of the History of Russia, I want to learn the History of you. I want to learn what makes you smile and what makes you cry.
I want to study you, I use each brush stroke to perfect your skin, each pen writes down notes until I have a whole book full of each heartbreak, so I can learn a lesson in you.