my paint brushes

♤

I stare at the painting hanging now on the wall and step closer, admiring the details. Something about the picture freezes me in place, almost gripping me with some invisible force. The colors, the shapes… the impressive dynamic. Almost as watching a living organism and not just splashes of paint on a regular canvas.

I look at colors that I used and bend my head slightly, thinking about what I feel.

The colors that fill this canvas are green, purple and blue. I blink a couple of times, something stinging my eyes. My love is bruised, just like me. Yet despite it all,

I wouldn't have changed it, not one bit. Bruised and battered as it is, it's still beautiful and makes me sigh. This love wasn't easy, but it was mine... and the thought of never loving this way... I just wouldn't be the person that I am now. I wouldn't be me.