Thoughts Between

How do you define love?

You caught my eyes by the way you are writing seriously across my table in a coffee shop. You sat beside the walls and continued writing. I stared at my untouched brushes and paint, waiting to be used. I'm damned. I don't know where to start, for I have no reason to create art. I look at you again. Still, bewitch in writing. I sighed. I started opening the lid of the paint and stared at my blank canvas-reflecting my impassive mind.
"Here's your Cappuccino, Sir," said the waitress.
You lifted your head to receive the drink, yet you caught my stare.
I drifted my attention to the windows, pretending to be amazed at the people on the streets. I battled within my mind how embarrassing that was. I took a sip at my drink and tried focusing on what scenery I should paint. I tried distracting myself from thinking of what happened, but then, I felt your stare. I looked back and saw how your familiar brown eyes spoke countless emotions. I was taken back and lowered my eyes back at my canvas. I picked up a brush and dip it in paint, hoping that I can create something in here. My mind traveled while stroking the brush in smooth motions. I noticed how your hair grew and skin fairer. You no longer wore jackets, which were your favorite. And your coffee preference changed too! I wonder if you still wrote poems about love. Well, I can no longer paint again since it reminded me of you. I tried it today, wishing I could find that fire again. Yet, I randomly mixed colors and create figures! I wonder if my work would turn good since I'm not really focusing on it.
I noticed that the sky grew darker and figured the day has passed. I half-heartedly took a glimpse at your table and saw you were not there anymore. I sighed. I took my drink and finish it in one gulp, but my eyes caught the piece of paper in front.
I slowly took it and opened it -it's written: 'To the girl, I saw the second time in a coffee shop, you're still the subject in my writings. I loved how you lit up the passion in your paintings, hoping I'm still the inspiration in those. '
I was taken back and looked down at the canvas. I smiled and whispered,
" You still are. "