I colored her into a canvas and called it my greatest art piece,
letting them know that only the hands of a(n) artist is capable of making something that has always been beautiful,
Into beauty that is now defined.
The brush strokes speak of heartbreak and anger,
Of love and pleasure,
They mimic the energy vibrating throughout her body and begin to imprint a different story within those who stand before her and ponder.

One, thinks that her movements are portrayed as tough, yet the world is slowly weighing down on her, crushing every sense of hope
The other, believes that she sways to the beats of Love. She stares, questioningly, at how the canvas embodied Love.
Little did she know,
The contents of the art piece is in fact,
Love.
A man and a woman stand before my significant piece,
Their hands interlocking, eyes wide open, mesmerized
This is what the art work stands for —
Lips interlocking, eyes gleaming, hungry minds, desperate hands, drum-like hearts.
A family walks by, the kids unaware of the beauty surrounding them.
The mother stands in the center and clasps her hands. Her thoughts buzz.
This is how she feels.
These swirls of color,
Mixing and staining the white, is a representation of all that is within her —
A mess that continues to haunt her.
Is this what she wanted?
But of course, she is madly in love,
Is it with her husband?
The father stares at his wife in awe.
Regardless of all the litter in the world, she remains the only sensible thing of beauty.
As more people begin to file in,
A sense of accomplishment washes over me.
The painting connected to so many people, that they’re most probably going to think of it over the next couple of days, weeks, maybe even months or years.

I take the painting down.
I storm out of the gallery.

I project the painting onto a larger canvas, a larger wall.
The people realize that there are seatings, in which they each begin to take one.
I yell out, ‘what do you see?’ ‘What does she speak to you?’ ‘What are you filled with?’ ‘What thoughts creep out of the shadows and talk to you, when you look at her?’
The audience stares at me with disbelief, as if I have become a madman, losing my sanity.
But I’ve already lost it to her.
‘Comfort’, one yells.
‘Loneliness’, follows.
‘Patience’ ‘intelligence’ ‘abandonment’ ‘happiness’ ‘carefree’ ‘anger’ ‘pain’ ‘suffering’

There are no words to describe the person I love,
But she embodies everything I see.
I tried containing her within a painting,
But she lived in every person that was granted a look by her.
And I am,
Forever,
Grateful
That I get to see beauty, in everything she is and everything she does.