Her long fingers grasped
the midnight blue pigmented stick of oil,
pulling it across the sand coloured card
as if nothing else existed.
The way she focused on the piece of art
she was creating-a piece of art
much like herself,
was exhilarating.
On the card was variations of
shapes, colours and shades-
much like herself.
She wore a prominent frown when she drew,
shaking her head and muttering things to herself when she went outside the lines,
making her hair fall into the middle of her shoulder blades.
Just like her masterpiece, she was
made up of
shapes, colours and shades.
Eyes a large oval shape
her nose a  triangular sculpture against her soft features.
The skin on her nose and against her cheeks were a darker shade of olive,
compared to the rest of her imperfect countenance.
Hair like black coffee cascading down her back,
merely reaching her frail waist.
A sense of nostalgia surrounded her small frame.
The masterpieces she creates show sentimental meanings,
hidden with oval shapes and midnight blue pigmented sticks of oil,
much like herself.

Hearts are not constant,
They each have many shades,
Their colour depends not on themselves,
But the light shining on them.

In the light they radiate beauty,
Each hue complimenting the other,
But in shade they lose focus,
And at night they are lost completely.

But Hearts are not black,
They only appear dark,
Nor are they red,
As even the most loving know hate.

Instead they span a spectrum,
Each unique,
But made of the same,
Primary emotions.

Hearts are pastels,
When touched they merge,
Blending towards each other,
Bridging the gap.

Although they cannot always fuse completely,
There will always be enough different colours,
For hearts to find companionship,
And trust, if not love.