The painting
- Reads 586
- Votes 81
- Parts 11
MatureOngoing1h 49m
Last published Sat, Aug 4, 2018
Revolving on that very familiar axis. The sympathising eyes of the universe never stopped staring... Saying "oh! I so wanted to be so bright and blinding" But I guess they never knew what a loss they're at. Cos looking back I so wish I never was the sun itself. Cos now I'm no different from the moon with no light to radiate. I'm utterly made of black. Just black.
A became an ink without my consent spreading out on a canvas I wasn't sure was mine, a canvas I wasn't sure belonged to me, one I wasn't sure I owned. I splatter on with my beautiful colour watching it dissolve into something mundane - made of black and white-
ππππ
πΈπΈπΈπΈ
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I was just smiling at the mere thought of him, I only wanted to talk to him, I wanted to see his smile, everyday for the rest of my life, I wanted to keep drawing happiness in the canvas called his eyes, the eyes that got me in this deep trouble in the first place. the sad part of all of this, is that those were only my feelings, he was not mine, no matter how I felt or how strong my feelings are. Yet, sometimes, I could've sworn he looked at me a little bit longer than how friends look at each other for sure. He was like the moon, a crescent indeed. Brighting my nights sometimes, others just making it all the dark. But what I seemed to miss, is that I never wondered about The other side of the moon.
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