Artistry

07 | again

But secrets are like smoke. You can't hold it in your hands.

They've always asked who this picture revealed. Who she was and why she was it, threatening to be taken away.

My heart held pride every time a pair of eyes would land on her, she was my soul.

But that just meant for me to stop--leading our strings unattached. For the peace of her secrecy she wanted to keep, even when my heart aches as the cowardice not to look back.

I used to just look at her from afar. I thought it was enough, distant and safe. But it just made me wander and want to see her more, touch her.

She was a fine piece of art, just not any art, but a masterpiece.

It was a moment of truth and shame, a feeling I hadn't felt before. That only she could make and nothing more.

I stared her without any shame. Uncaring of the world unless it's with her in it; or what others may think of me as. As long as I see her, it's as if I blink, she would be gone and it would all turn out to be a dream.

Calm down, it isn't a dream. She's here.

I pinched myself just in case dismissing the feeling of eyes. I closed mine.

I opened my eyes and regret seeped through me. She was gone from that glory spot.

But then I looked up and was met with dark a scrutinizing gaze of gray orbs, Iris.

• • •

All of it was a dream, you didn't meet him and neither did he. It was just a dream that you both desired, your thoughts the same, as you crave for each other — like the olden young times, you've blessed each other with your pieces.

And even if it's just a dream, they will meet. This time, it would be real.

As real as their feelings.