I used to draw the form of clouds
With my fingertip
And the coldest wind
Would take them away.
They taught me that we are dirt, finite.
I used to rub their shape
In the condensation
Of the car window,
Back when I was young.
I was wondering
How could winter skies
Be so colourful
And luminescent.
I've been hoping, one day,
That the first line I'll paint
Will be the one
That'll make me live forever.
I watched the world run on
While hiding behind the window,
'Till I took a breath, the deepest and sketched
The form of my future, once again.
Now I know that one day,
The last line that I'll paint
Will be the one
That'll make me live forever.
New landscapes to portray
And new
Colors to fill new space
On the canvases,
I will draw new meanings
And I'll fill the space.
I will fill it.
I haven't seen new colors
Since at least two very long
Years and these days
Blue becomes grey,
Just like the thick smoke
I inhale every time
I feel a void inside
But now I realise
That is love
What should be filling
The empty space
In my atoms.