To be loved by an artist is to live a life without the fear of dying, for you will live in their pieces forever.
I don’t think I’m an artist. I am not good with colors, with words, with every stroke — I am not an artist. But at some point, will you give me a chance to paint you? To write you?
I will start with your eyes. That’s the thing I’ve loved most about you. The way they sparkle with the passion you’ve poured into everything, they speak when you can’t. Your eyes, they don’t lie; I can see you.
Maybe I’m not an artist in the traditional sense, but let me trace the lines of your smile with my fingertips, let me capture the curve of your jaw with a pen dipped in ink. Let me paint you in the hues of sunrise and dusk, blending shades of joy and sorrow that make you who you are.
I wish I could also paint your scent, the smell of you that has become my favorite, a scent that lingers in my clothes and on my pillow, a scent that brings peace to my heart. How can I capture the way your hair looks in the morning, each strand catching the first light of day? Your face when you’re mad, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing with intensity — how can I etch that fiery beauty into my art?
I want to capture your laughter, the way it bubbles up from deep within you, filling the room with a melody that never fails to lift my spirits. And your touch — how can I translate the gentleness of your hand in mine, the warmth that spreads through me with a simple brush of your fingers?
I may stumble over clumsy brushstrokes and falter with imperfect words, but know that each stroke, each word, carries a piece of my heart. For to capture you on canvas or in verse is not about perfection — it’s about weaving the essence of you into something I love.
So, let me try, not as an artist, but as someone who loves you deeply. Let me immortalize you in the imperfect beauty of my creations, knowing that in each piece, you will live on, cherished and timeless, as the muse who inspired a heart to speak.
For as long as I live, you will always be the muse. You will always be the poem. You are the art that flows from my soul. You are the canvas upon which I pour my dreams, the verse that dances in my heart, the masterpiece that defines my existence.
In every piece I create, there will be a part of you — your smile, your touch, your presence. You are the eternal muse, the poem without an end, the art that makes life beautiful.
I will make a museum full of you.
