what do I consider art?
Is it a painting splattered with all sorts of colors, hanged up in a museum?
or is it a sculpture seemingly strong and tall like Goliath, staring right back me?
what do I consider art?
art is the way you evoke both pleasure and sadness inside of me.
it is the way you look with your golden brown hair and your rosy cheeks.
art is what I see when I look at your body, a mixture of pasty white and red from the scratch marks that I’ve left from the painting we’ve spread across your bed.
art is what I see whenever I look at you smile in my direction.
it’s the way your hand delicately glides across a piece of paper as you write for what seems like hours on end.
it’s also what I hear whenever I imagine your sweet and silky voice traveling through my very ears.
art is you.
honey, it’s you.
the most aesthetically perfected masterpiece.
darling, it’s you.