you painted me like a beautiful picture:

one with our future ahead of us,
one with both of us laughing.

there were strokes of anger
of pain,
of our fights,
but looking at it now,
the aggressiveness of your brush
definitely highlighted the beauty
of the painting:

it showed
the wrinkles of our face when we smile,
the creases of your clothes forming lines towards my arms holding you close,
the light in your eyes when you look at me — as if the world meant to me and i was the only who deserve it.

however,
you left me in a single room.
i thought maybe, i was that special.
that i was one of — or better yet your greatest masterpiece.

as you smiled,
i felt happy.
i thought maybe this was it.
a painting you’re so proud to show the world.

you crept towards the door
went for the switch and turned the lights off.

and just like that, i waited for months
for the lights to go back on.

i knew in my heart,
that this beautiful painting i thought was your masterpiece,
became one of your hidden collections,
that only you could exclusively see.

just like what you did,
to the others before me.