I can feel that familiar burning in my stomach. The one that seems to consume everything but is as gentle as a flower blowing in the breeze. I long to create art.
I want to pull something out of the depths of my very being and put it into the world for all to see.
But all that comes to mind is the way your eyes reflect the sun, turning them into a cataclysmic display of elegance. The way your body feels like an amethyst dream next to mine.
The way your smile can turn me into a puddle, while your voice simultaneously brings me back to reality and causes me to get lost in a sea of euphoria.
I want to grab these feelings and paint them onto a canvas, but when I do, I find myself reveling in the beauty of your mind.
The sharpness of your tongue combined with the silken feeling of your lips turns me into a babbling brook, unable to form the words that you deserve to hear.
I long to create art, but I know that nothing that I could create, be it on paper, canvas, clay, or even if I could reach up and grab the galaxies and pull them to earth,
could ever compare to the masterpiece that you are.