we started a painting
when we met.
i was the artist,
and you weren't,
but i was okay with that.
you painted carelessly,
and i cleared up all your mistakes.
it was a beautiful portrait,
and i was beyond ecstasy.
but one day,
i guess you became tired.
holding brushes
and painting in blotches and strokes,
you decided to stop,
you quit and left me there.
i watched you walk out of the painting,
i watched you walk out of my life.
so then, very slowly
i grew more tired on my own.
from colors, to monochromatic.
from rainbow to black and white.
our painting turned dull.
one day, i ended it all,
never touching a single brush.
i never finished the painting.
how would i,
when inspiration is gone?
and only you,
were my inspiration.