She promised me a beautiful picture, something unique and out of place.
I had no idea what could have been better. It was either her personality or the sincerest smile from her beautiful face.
I would think about it all day, her art would take me far from this dark age.
But the storms chased me. At least her affection silenced the rain, was able to wipe my eyes to continue my path and seek out the change. I can write about this as a memory, turn the page and describe a feeling. Write a chapter about a couple of things. Her perfect canvas hung above my bed. Funny how that picture replays that experience over and over through my head. I had no idea she was the storm I needed to escape from, things got darker and louder the more attention she attempted to play out for me. Reactions of hers were so dual, feelings got so cold. Lips felt lifeless, now my anxiety reached its highest. Her art became my bitter sweet masterpiece.