you are the paintbrush in his hand,
you are the sloppy strokes covered in electric yellow paint when he has had one too many glasses of wine
you are the canvas
you are the beautiful inspiration that crosses his mind hundreds of times a day
you are the solid large shapes and you are the small detailed patterns
you are every breathtaking color that stands in his collection of paints
and you are every part of art i can think of at the moment and yesterday i went to a beautiful museum and madison kept gasping in awe and saying "wow look at how beautiful that painting is" but every time i couldn't help but think how much more pretty it would be with your fingers laced with mine and your breath on my neck
but you weren't so i just smiled and nodded
