I swam in the depths of your soul, the mystery in your eyes, the beat of your heart and loved everything your sweetness has to offer. Every inch of your being, every speck of your imperfections I've grown to love.
Then suddenly, art is no more a canvas. Art is not ink on paper, art is no more the colors of the sky and earth, it is no more photographs and paintings. Art is not defined by paintbrush or crayons, art is not brush strokes and drawings.
Art becomes you; your soul and what you are. The only magic left on earth, the only bitterness with the hint of good. You've become the abstracts in my life, never perfectly beautiful - but filled with meaning in all aspects.
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