I painted with the strokes,
Of shadows of the girl,
On the canvas.
I strived to make her alive,
With the contour of real colours,
My creation,
Who would come to life.
And then she would love me,
Like no one ever did before.
But then my brush stopped,
Just before the last stroke of reality on her,
She would also break my heart
If she came alive,
'Cause, then she would be
Like all other living.
YOU ARE READING
ACHES [Wattys Winner 2015]
PoetryAin't we drowning but still floating in our complexities of love and hatred, happiness and sorrow & life and the journey. Short stories and poetry about true living i.e living through an ache and coming out of it. Want to meet my words in versatile...