Stories of Poetry and Vice Versa

Paint.

I stand
Dumbfounded
By what lies in front of me.
An empty black room
With her standing in the middle.
She turns on music and sings along
Ignoring how she sounds
(It is beautiful)
And the walls are splattered with paint
Of every color.
She turns behind her
And the color becomes more concentrated.
Yet
I watch in pain
As the color behind her
Begins to disappear.
So I turn away
Unbearable as it is
To watch the mosaic
Her voice created
Disappear.

I gather the courage
To face the room
I assumed to be black.
All was silent as I turned
And yet the color lived.
It breathed and moved and flowed
Just as the words on the book she was reading did.
(She is tranquil, opposing the color)
They were no longer spots
But long
Weaving
Spiraling lines.
Painting an oblivion of color
Onto her dark space.
The end of the lines don't fade though.
These lines last
And I watch
As colors
Dash across the space
As though hoping to cover
The last bit of black
Before having to cover other colors.
So the colors run over each other
And bleed
To form newer ones.
And she sits
Beautifully unaware
(She too is beautiful)
Of the liveliness she's created.
As she puts the book down
And the colors start to fade
And the streaks taper
Until there are no remnants
Except my memories.

I finally work up the courage to introduce myself.
I offer something along with my companionship
Paint setter.
She may not get it
But I hope to not have to remember
An eternity of clashing colors.
And instead continue to live it.
(She accepts).

So I sit
Or stand
Or sing
Or dance
Or read
Or be
With her.
(In awe at her grace and existence)
And as her solid colors
Or patterns
Or splotches
Or drops
Or streaks
Or anything
Come into being
I paint over them
With setter.
Trying to keep these
Forever.
And sometimes it works
And sometimes it doesn't
And sometimes everything washes away.
But it always comes back.
(Just as she does).

She tells me she wants my contribution
Instead of setting.
So as we coexist
Our colors coincide
Creating new pallets.
(More vivid than ever)
And with this new beauty
I will the setter
To do it's own job
And I just
Be.
And the mosaics complicate
And the splotches overrun
And the lines cross
And the colors mix.
And she and I
Be.

No matter
What happens
I'm always there
To set the paint
Over her black space.