||Elegance is not about being noticed, it's about being remembered.||

She watched with awe,

The way his hands moved when he picked up the pencil to draw.

She watched it glide,

Across the blank canvas without life,

She watched him put life,

Into something so blank and dull,

She watched the passion in his eyes,

When he mixed colors.

He didn't see her,

He was too busy being sad,

He was busy trying to rid his mind.

She came near him when he painted.

He didn't see her, because he concentrated.

But he felt her gaze,

Someone staring.

He looked up and saw her with a furrowed brow,

Why would anyone want to watch?

They all stayed away like he was a plague.

But she came near.

She watched his art and smiled at him.

Told him he had talent in his hands contaminated with paint.

He smiled, but couldn't look at her.

The space was closing, he felt the lane getting narrower,

While the smile on her face got only broader.

She asked him how he did it,

Painting with love

But he couldn't answer, because the brush fell,

He was falling in the endless well.

He ran, panting again.

This illness is surely a bane.