Today the teacher asked me what art was and I mentioned Him.
For me He was, is and will be art.
His hair, his eyes, his lips and his cheeks. His arms, his legs, his neck.
All He is art.
The way his hair moves through the air or the way complete idiocy makes him smile.
His seriousness and his bearing, his body when he sweat, the way he sings softly.
His voice.
His voice is so perfect for me.
Every word that comes out of his mouth is like thousands of babies laughing endlessly.
Even in his saddest moments, He is art.
The way he prefers to cry in a place where nobody sees him.
The way in which his words become deeper and with a darker sense.
The way his dark circles are presented by not having slept well at night.
His arms.
The way his arms hug me constantly.
The way he likes to move them just to get my attention (and he really does).
The way they trap me around the waist and carry me like a baby.
His lips.
The way he brushes his lips and mine making me want to kiss him.
The way he squeezes them when he's upset.
The way he kisses me again and again. Even in that way I don't get tired of him kissing me.
And his eyes.
His eyes are my favorite part.
Why? Because it is bad and good at the same time.
He can lie to me looking at me with those brown eyes.
It can make me lose control just by looking at me, but in the same way that it makes me lose control, it controls me.
He can make me cry with just looking at me.
He can make my life go a thousand laps just by looking at me.
He can make my heart stop just by looking at me.
And just by looking at me, I fell in love with him.
Do you know what's wrong?
I never knew him and never will.
But that's what art is about, to love the unknown.
And for me, He was art.
For me, He was a stranger.
