The smile of that little girl, inspired my first portrait.
And today even that girl, A distant memory that fade.
Something of past. He makes it so and I can't resist,
Unbelievable, so I asked, But silence he kept, even on insist.
And then I met him, my best portrait ever,
The only thing I can draw in perfection,
My old picture was lost however,
But I created it, and I will, again in affection.
And then maybe that smile will return,
Not of the little girl, but mine that disappeared in the churn.
And then I can turn to create a swish of lives,
With the strength of my hands in his strokes.
And how? I don't know yet, but I need to,
Somehow I will repaint our whole life and him,
I need his smile to fuel the my life too,
And thus it is nothing but a survival of both in brim.
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Quote:
"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close." -Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets.
Written for a painted future.
~Chaahat