You used to paint me twenty-four shades of blue.
When you were finished, there were traces of me on you.
You’d paint me at the beach lying on the shore
You’d paint me like you needed me, but I was already yours.
You’d paint us close together, our fingers tightly grasped.
You asked me where my heart was, explored it like a map.
You used to draw me laughing, laughing in the car,
Comparing my wide smile to the prettiest of stars.
You’d draw me staring at the sky, admiring the view.
And it was at that moment:
I fell in love with you.
You saw me as a piece of art, too delicate to touch.
But perspectives changed. You began to fear your art was not enough.
You packed your bags and then you left in attempt to start anew.
You