If you were a painting
You'd be a masterpiece.

i used to write so many things related to you. your whole name, your favorite song, the things you always say, the place where i first saw you.

i write them in different places-- on paper, on the back side of my notes, on the wall, on my wrist.

my hand moves involuntarily and i end up writing everything repeatedly. i write even in between classes. it's even frequent when i get home.

they are always written in the same manner the first time i wrote your name. with care, as if your name was the most sacred thing i'd ever encountered.

but now, i don't even do it anymore.

i stopped the rhyming about you. i forgot your middle name. the song that plays in the car seems so familiar, yet it isn't.

everytime i walk down the corridor where we always used to meet,

your voice doesn't seem to stand out anymore.

my papers are neat now. the last pages of my notes are empty. i didn't receive suspension from vandalizing the school's walls this year. my wrist is covered by my watch. i listen to my professors now. i sleep comfortably.

i lost my pen.

then one day, i encounter your name again.

this time, i write it without feeling anything.

i guess your name isn't as sacred now as it was in the past.

i guess your name would only be a foreign word i knew i encountered but i don't remember.

yeah. i forgave and now, i forgot.