Loving you was like a vase of roses, but the vase were my lungs and the roses were my oxygen clogging and making it hard to breath. You were like the stars in the night sky dead but still shinning after all these years how could someone be so cold yet so warm to the touch? It was always about you. I met you one day in an art museum you had painted a single sunflower in a dark navy canvas and then there was you a dirty blonde who wore a bohemian white dress cause formality was never your forte.
"This is such a unique piece for an exposition so "fancy" don't ya think?" I said jokingly hoping she would catch on but then we had a conversation that lasted for what seemed like ages but only lasted hours it still lingers so vividly in my head.
"Not at all, you see it's not much of the art or the painting but about the artist and how we project the message with our hands way of filling a plain canvas into a window of perspective in the eyes of whoever understand or give it meaning." She said these words in such a manner that would have left me perplexed for years to come. We continued talking and I learned more about her and her the way she talked and mostly her used of words would make fall in love even more.
"What do you mean every person is a flower?" I said half drunk while sitting on the hood of my chevy looking at the stars and night sky.
"People who are romantics and tend to like pleasure and luxury or belong in a high mark are the roses. People who are down to earth, basically the working class are the dandelions and so on"
"Who am I?" I said not thinking of the way I said it or proyected it
"You're a Lily soft and gentle but driven and diverse calming yet with your priorities in place" She said it almost with pity on her tone but In those second where we stood in silence We leaned close and we kissed but one thing led to another and I ended up in her apartment. Despite being drunk I could remember her body so vividly so wildly, like a work of art As she took off my clothes I quickly remembered I hadn't shaved, maybe cause I wasn't planning having sex with a girl I had just met in an art Gallery. But she didn't cared because sex to her was a form of art where feeling pleasure and orgasms were the colors and we the canvases.
She was so gentle get so rough in which she took the lead we did things you would only see in online porno movies, God, was she wild and I'd wish I had been completely sober but even drunk I could see her face in the dark and her hands in which only in that moment realized were tainted in various colors were still holding on my chest as she did all the work. Her body was perfect from every curve to every stretchmark, her hair although messy fall back behind her ears so perfect she looked like a mermaid no. more like a painting. God, she was perfect even her panted voice was perfect and for that moment she was mine all mine. I woke up the next morning only to find that she wasn't next to me to which I assumed it was only a dream, but how could it when this wasn't even my house but then I saw her walking in the room with such grace she had two coffee mugs one with tea other with some kind of hangover shit
"I was wondering when you were gonna wake up"
"Yeah sorry I didn't mean to. But I don't usually fuck on the first date"
"Nah it's cool And this wasn't a date" she said pulling closer "This is a commitment." she said then kissing my lips and leaving. From that point on I knew that I would Love her forever and she would me.
