'tears of my lyla'

Perhaps this is my story.

Today, I've made my peace. With? My own impossibility.

-

'Picture-perfect' nights.

I sat there looking at you.

You stood there for hours, staring at the paintings - wearing them down with your eyes.

To me, this gallery was no different than the other ones we've seen and definitely one I wouldn't visit more than once. Nothing fancy - white brick walls with a crack window at the entrance and in it stood an array of painting, sculptures, poetry and photography from a local prodigy.

You name it, the prodigy has probably thought about it. Cubism, Goth, Shakespearean, Arctic-wisdom, Palladionism, Novelistic - every seven degrees of contrast, done. Impressive but not of my liking.

Not to mention, they were insanely pricey. to me atleast.

But it was different for you.

Each one, captivated you as you analyze them - frame by frame. For hours you stood there, talking to yourself as if by talking to the artwork, you were able to understand it. To you, they were all familiar - all of them had the same face.

As I sat there looking at you looking at the picture. I finally understood why.

Each one of it was dedicated for you. Each one of it was inspired by you. Every single one was of you.

You didn't just know this 'prodigy', you're a part of him. with love.


"brilliance" written by I.O & M.