Red was the color of sky when I painted you all blue. I searched for some ochre but all the vintage vibes were your colored memories. When the writer in me was dead, I wish for you one last time. I wish the artist in me to forget me as you have lived long enough for the dead in me.
The day I painted the Portrait of a lady. I sold all my poems for free, for the world to live you. I burned all my drafts to save you from the dying world. But not long it took to get stolen and became as one of the world's most sought after missing works. I travelled back to you before the curtain fell, I know you were waiting for me behind the portrayal. When I say I know, believe me for I have painted some of me over your death to forget you.
There were times when you forget yourself and came back running to me to find yourself in me. Still you are here but I forget in which room I had locked myself with you but I remember the last time we met, I had thrown the keys out of the window pane. And you jumped infront of my memories to save us. Before I could give you my hand, it was too late to feel the pain but there was where I felt myself existing. I existed in my crisis for the world to hear me. The wind got heavier as it carried my dead words bleeding red for the blue in you. I was all breathless so I hurried back in, for some words still left to write, so I can let you live in the room where I got myself locked with you to let the world find the stolen painting.
aislesofpoetry yqbaba longing unedited
