I couldn't think of a perfect picture to paint. I wanted something absolute, something divine, something to show my prescence to the world, something to have people stare at for ages. I wanted something to be appreciated besides the confines of my walls and eyes. Can I create the perfect canvas? I am formidable. I am divine. I am absolute. Ofcourse, I can create a perfect canvas. But why do I keep seeing him whenever I wave my brush across the board? Why must he appear in my web of utmost creativity? I do not wish for things to go down like this. I do not wish to try to paint and see you in my head. I do not wish to go to bed, to fall into a deep slumber and see you in the depth of my dreams.
Why do you do this to me? To no one but me? The most absolute. The most divine. The most beautiful. Why do I feel these things for you? You are way beneath me who is most gracious, most appreciated, most welcome, most adored, most desired. But now, I desire who does not desire me. Oh, woe is me. The world is indeed cruel.
Come to me Isaiah. Tell me what you seek. Tell me you seek me...please. Tell me you want to hear me speak, tell me you wish to see the beauty that is my face, tell me you wish to touch my skin and run your fingers through the soft bundle of hair atop my head.
You are cruel. I do not wish to have not met you, but what I do wish is that I had not fallen for you. I am ashamed. I feel all these for a being way below me. Can you see the massive bundle of feathers behind me? Shall I flap them for you so you'd watch me fly to the heavens? Come to me, I'll carry you across the world. Take you to places you've never been before. But knowing you, you'd refuse my request and preach of something against my existence. Can't you see that I am real? Can you not feel me the way I feel you? Look into my eyes Isaiah. Tell me you love me the way I love you. Tell me you desire me the way I desire you. Tell me you are mine, the way I have declared that I am yours.
Why must you do this? How shall I paint my most beautiful piece without you? You, Isaiah are the most beautiful thing to happen to me. So how shall I paint something beautiful when you are not beside me to watch me do it? Woe indeed is me.
Thanks for reading.
