Canvas of her Heart

A blank canvas.

That’s what they all want.

Untouched by the strokes of the paint brush.

The vibrancy of colors left unseen.

His emotion’s untranslated.

That’s what they all want.

A person untouched.

Where fingers haven’t coursed through his hair;

Hands unimprinted on his skin.

But you see,

He wasn’t a blank canvas.

Characters brought to life by each stroke of his brush;

Where red hues splashed the corners,

Melding into the orange and pinks.

Many viewed his art;

Color blind.

Unable to appreciate the intricacy he weaved,

Some tried to change his work;

Seen in the grey smudges of pencil marks left behind.

But he couldn’t erase it.

Though he tried;

Tears left at the edges.

Stumbling upon his canvas,

She took one look.

She saw the red hues and felt his anger when life was unfair,

The orange and pink where he saw that glimmer of hope.

The calmness of the blue splattered at the center when he felt at peace,

Merging into the purple of his self-acceptance.

She passed her fingers on the smudges and tears,

Feeling the heartbreak he once experienced.

His emotions translated in the vibrancy of the colors,

By someone who could see all his shades.

Who knew not only what each stroke and splash meant

But what brush he used.

Her fingers understood the texture of his canvas.

A masterpiece in her eyes;

She wouldn’t change a thing.

His creation hung on the wall,

Becoming the canvas of her heart.

-A. Priya