"What is love... for you?" I asked. She stopped playing with her fingers and then look at the blueish sky.
"Love? Is the sweetest thing that I wanted to feel." she answered and shows her genuine smile. "How 'bout you?" I looked at her. She's really beautiful. An art indeed.
"Love? Love is you." I said. I wanted to touch her face but I can't. "Love for me is an art, art is you. So you are the definiton of love for me." I heard her chuckles.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I love you." I answered. She didn't respond but I heard her sigh.
"Y-you can't l-love me..." I looked at her worriedly. She's sobbing and fuck. I want to wipe her tears. Her tears that is made of paint. "I'm an ephemeral soul, an art as you said. Minutes from now my body will vanish my existence and go back where I came from."
No... this can't be.
"I am your painting. I am your ephemeral art."
BINABASA MO ANG
His Ephemeral Art
General Fictione·phem·er·al /əˈfem(ə)rəl/ ➤ lasting for a very short time.