You manipulated me like clay into the finest of hearts.
Then smashed it to pieces into the most priceless of arts.

"How can no one see?" he said softly, almost as a whisper that made her brow rise in confusion. But there was a strange slight relief around the curviness of her lips and in those dark deep blue eyes that seemed to have lit up turning a shade lighter. She exhaled a sigh of relief as though she was glad someone was asking or even talking to her.
"How can no one hear the air carrying the whispers of your cries? How can no one see the merge between the depthful ocean and the mysterious galaxy in your eyes? Does no one feel the sadness leaking out of your pores? The way your smile is never complete, how your cheeks does not swallow your eyes no more. Does no one see your face and say You're a beautiful masterpiece made of all these broken pieces and I want to know more."

A masterpiece of intricate mosaic,
a beauty underlied with chaos.
She lets them see,
what she wants them to see.

The immortal is the time before the rain
When we have thoughts of it afterward.  
By then, the mosaic of tongue and its words
Are broken stones swept away
By the shuttling broom of storm.