Our love was like Porcelain…
Beautiful, delicate…
Meant to age for an eternity.
With every brush stroke,
I painted onto it my soul.
Imagining on the other side,
You were painting the same to make it whole.
As it turns out…
You weren’t painting at all,
Too worried you might use the wrong colors.
You turn away,
This piece just not the right one to paint.
As you fade, my grip fails.
Our porcelain, falls to the ground…
A thousand pieces scattered…
With it my soul,
I painted so carefully.