December 27, 2015
9:11 a.m.
As much as you deny it, you are art.
Even though you're not made from exquisite pastels and
oils mixed with one another to form lovely colors; and
countless canvases, big and small.
You're not the abstract pieces that hang from ceilings,
and are mounted on walls
and displayed in glass exhibits.
You're not the art people pay to see in museums.
You're the art made from flesh and bones,
fashioned with the indulgence of your voice,
and the gently crafted touch of your smooth, delicate hands on my face.
You're the art that people usually don't see with the look of the naked eye;
you have to look deep beyond the eyes to see the small
features that reveal how unique you truly are.
Although, to me, you're a masterpiece.
