I'm in love with the idea of being in love,
Of kissing a boy, of having enough.
I trust in the process of having trust,
Of flying free like the happiest dove.
I'm in love with the idea of being in love,
But more so in love with all of the above.

To be an artist is to be free, free of my own thoughts and ideas
Free from other's expectation and standards
Free from everything except the artist itself, me
I carve, I paint, I draw, I create
To satisfy my mind and souls' desire
Artist conveys what's in their head
Artist express what's in their heart
Artist tries to build connection in between people's heart
Just like how chef prepares a dish
WIth thorough preference of smell, taste, and texture,
Artist prepares masterpiece to appease the eyes with perfect features
Life is like an art
With an artist giving color to one's life
An artist never doubts his own outlook
Artist uses it to be converted into book
A book, full of experience and emotion
A book, soon to be shared and unfolded to the nation
When an artist loses its way
Art will find you to make you stay
In silence, in chaos
It doesn't matter
As long as it's always what we choose.

As abditive
as I am,
a vestige
of her presence
sets my heart
pounding-
wanting
to be heard
in the din;
to be seen
in a crowd;
to be in
the warmth
of her arms...

i was about to give up and stop
stop looking for someone and accept the fact
the fact that i would be alone for a while
a while without the warmth of another soul
another soul like yours igniting a spark
a spark in the deepest part of my heart

Melting into the warmth that is you,
Melting into the dream that came true.

We were in a painting, the two of us
She was holding my hand
In the soft glow of our own bodies
And the warmth of her palm
I felt it in my throat, and on my face

We were in a painting, you and me
And the way you lay in my arms
I felt, a stranger in my own home
Who are you, who are you?
In one strange city of love, I found you