the art model

woke thinking about how it felt to have slept beneath the folds of your mind, how i wanted to keep crawling further and further until the elevator stopped at your eyes.

always it’s sunrise from my vantage point and i remember once asking what color was being reflected back to me. you could have said mango and still i would have nodded in belief, even though all i could see was the warmth of an untouched color wheel.

i knew we were art studios the world viewed as museum statues. something about each of us different enough for approach and perhaps even rest, but nothing made available to take home forever.

i don’t know who touched who first but remember trusting yours. i remember your hands and just about all the paints my eyes could and couldn’t perceive that made up the sum of you. i knew you were correct to love and trusted whatever might come of that confidence.

if you took a vietnam vet directly off the fields of active war and embraced him, it would be enough to give him courage to face what he saw, enough to know he needed help to heal.

i wished to have gone with you. i wished you to have stayed with me. i’m not great at making wishes. i’m never specific enough.

my wishes were granted but i miss you. i miss the color wheel, the smile it came with, and the sadness that somehow keeps it all turning.

i didn’t give up. i just made new wishes. wishes it’s better not to share until granted.

i didn’t stop believing in you. i just realized the need to believe in me too. i also believe there are more colors to paint with than words, cause to recreate what i saw and still see requires a canvas without covers.

there are beautiful things i dream to have done with you in the future even as times of past seem too far fetched to imagine having impact now. my time with you is replayed because you are a need my soul has never stopped aching for and that replay has also become of a part of everything i paint.

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