Heart heavy, shoulders drooped, I walk through the grey streets, on my way to you.
I dragged my feet through the door, and you turn to me, arms as warm and ready as the cup of tea you made me, your love a kaleidoscope of color.
You are my blank canvas, my darling.
With every smile, a soft splatter.
With every sad tear, I glide the dark through.
With every laugh, I drench it with the color of your eyes.
For every scold, a stabbing of the brush.
For every caress, a sprinkle of your favorite color.
For every hug, the color of my love, painted on every edge, embracing the canvas.
But for every time you tell me you love me, I’d hand you the brush Mom, and let you add your own beauty to it.