I saw her holding that damned piece of paper...she held it close to her and smiled that was enough to illuminate the whole room. I draw for myself...I have always have that motto ever since I started art. In grayscale and black, I fell in love with this lack of color. It was never morbid to me...it was rather enticing and romantic. To draw is to express what you feel, suppose why I rather put my drawings in such tones of colors. Yet there is this one woman who was ever so fine. She was on my mind day and night. My hands felt as feather and my heart has ever-so flutter. Every page of my notebook was dedicated for her, yet still convincing that I feel nothing with a crude satire.
"Is this me...?"
She saw one of the drawings I made for her...it was a portrait of her....her hair was tucked into her ear, whilst she writes down on a notebook. Such elegance...such beauty...as if Aphrodite herself was in fact her. It never dawned to me that I have gravely flawed. These drawings do not depict her true beauty for I only saw the surface...not the content. As she smiled, I saw the colors burst into the air....Grayscale and black is not enough to express what I feel for her.
YOU ARE READING
Flown Away
RomanceOnce she was a novel I never wanted to close., yet somewhere along the lines...ink fades away. As pages worn, I now write the ones unspoken.
