When art breaks, paint spills. When my heart aches; it’s because not even pills would heal me of your portions. I can’t see any other mural or painting better than ours; but what we have isn’t the real deal. I can’t be a solo artist without your direction, yet I have to. I can’t ignore what we made, yet I want to. So I can’t help but thank the strokes of your brush; for when I was empty – you filled me. When I was undiscovered – you saw me. When I was ruined – you fixed me. And just as I was starting to glow in your light – you left me, illuminated.
— Your piece of work.