Art (Poetry)

On an old chair besides an opened vintage window, Curtains fluttered as the wind seeps beneath its layers, A padpaper in her lap, a pen held by her right hand, A lady in her late thirties sat alone, thinking.

She gathered her excess curls behind her ears Her lips curved into a dazzling smile She then gazed blankly far across a green meadow And closed her eyes as if reminiscing.

Her thoughts filled with a familiar girl, Heart’s genuine, so naive, so trusting Just a plain seventeen year old With the same dazzling smile she holds.

A girl who spent half of her life complaining Why most of herself is filled with imperfections? Why can’t she be just perfect enough for him Hated herself for loving a foolish boy who never stayed.

The lady’s eyes were filled with tears Yet she swallowed back as it threatened to spill With passion, she began to write her heart out “Young lady” She addressed the girl.

“Always remember, you will never look perfect.” She glanced at her easel and paint brushes, “You look like an art.” She nodded in agreement She stopped for a while and felt her heart beats.

She bent over her paper and continued “And art wasn’t supposed to be perfect But supposed to make them feel something.” She closed her eyes once again.

“Like an art, Something not everyone knows how to love But something someone dedicated his whole heart for.” This time her tears flowed out and ran down her cheeks “With love, Yourself.” A tear drip down the paper.

She stood up and left the paper on a table. She walked through the door with a smile. As if she has finished her purpose Leaving behind an age before her life.

She entered a different room, a chandelier hanging She sat on a chair besides an opened window, Curtains fluttered as the wind seeps beneath its layers, A lady in her late thirties sat alone, thinking.

She gathered her excess curls behind her ears Her lips curved into a dazzling smile She then gazed blankly far across the city lights And closed her eyes as if reminiscing.

Her thoughts filled with a familiar girl Heart’s genuine, so naive, so trusting Just a plain seventeen year old With the same dazzling smile she holds.

A girl read a letter when she was seventeen She who learned to love her self behind imperfections She stood strong after crying for having her heart broken By a foolish boy who promised to stay but never did.

The lady glanced at a painting of a young maiden with a different man.. its colors faded with time, but her smile never did, so as their love.

#art #artist #time #timetravel #self #poetry #writing #writer