I sat there and thought of all the ways I could paint her

I do believe she loves me

as I am certain I love her.

She gave me art, paintings and drawings

little thoughts about me built with her hand

built with intent.

hesitation was always an inevitability

it had been years since

I had wanted to be with someone

since I could see myself with someone else.

I have been bits of a double sided puzzle

still working out what picture I wanted to make

but there was a picture partially developing

none the less.

I sat there and thought

of all the ways I could paint her

I wondered how she would paint herself.

Water colors are nice I thought

the way they fit together

like handmade stained glass

as if the sun shines through

individual highlights

fractures somehow disappearing in the image.

I found an abstract piece in a house basement

I was remodeling once

magnificent swooping lines

stark colors that would be angry anywhere else

I have only recently found,

among the frustration of curves and colors,

a woman

soft but bold

bound by chaos but not tamed

when I pass it in my house now

I wonder if it is her.

I sat there and watched her paint on a few occasions

in love with her love of art

longing for the passion

wonder where in my life I had lost it.

Realism couldn't capture her

though rooted here

she is so much more.

Human eyes are not meant to see

all the colors certain people contain within them.

she is not modern

a paradox that is both

tradition and beyond the time.

The potential of understanding

mixed with alien concepts

meant only to be reinterpreted

on each individual occasion.

She is the childish lust for a better tomorrow

the passion only pained artists achieve

something like rain but unfiltered

by atmosphere or ground

freedom

but more.

She is the pause between a sinking heart

and its recovery

the rock that caused the ripple

and I can only hope to hold her

in these words.