Her eyes were as crystal clear as the moonlight that bounces off the waves.
Behind them held the darkest storms roaring for release.
Her tears were like the rain tapping against the balcony windows.
There was something about her sadness that was destructive.
Yet so beautiful.
Her smile was bright like the night sky.
Filled with so many words and ideas.
But shut away early, before she speak.
Her mind so complex from doubt.
She could not see what the future bring.
Nor what the present had for her.
Her heart was frail.
But she had the strongest will.
She did not know what power she had over me.
She worked like a puzzle
But. I never did step away.
I never got bored trying to endlessly figure her out.
She intrigued me as a whole.
I found her mystery to be stunning,
Her pain to be made into flowers, paintings that would hang up in a gallery. Each person looking at it in a different tone.
And her soul as a bound to something new.
When I saw her.
I did not see pain.
When I saw her.
I saw what I truly wanted to understand.
I saw art.
Beauty is pain.
Her pain was beauty.
Love is a strong word.
One that could most likely take control of pain.
One that could outshine beauty.
And that is the emotion I could feel so deeply.
I was not scared.
I was not pushed away from her troubles.
I saw her troubles as light.
I saw someone who was capable of pain.
Someone who knew what it was like to be alone.
In that moment I realized.
Pain is to be art.
And that art is from pain.
And she was my art.
