Painting 

i.

we began with a canvas, him and i

kept on adding colors, a brush-stroke here and there, some sparkles we stole from late evening laughter, and a bit of fancy handwriting (“calligraphy”, he corrected) for rainy days.

“ever heard of caramel blue?” he asked and splashed it on on the canvas in front of us.

“ever heard of the coral like azure mahogany?” he watched as i tipped the entire paint can on our work.

and we delighted in it.

“i want this to be wild,” i said.

“i want this to be home,” he said.

“i want this to be the best thing ever,” i said.

“i want this to be the best thing ever, too,” he smiled.

and so we cut out a few pieces from origami sheets, folded them this way and that and kept the firelights always on, stored in a jar on the windowsill

as we continued to color and craft and paint us up.

wild. home. home. wild.

ii.

we began with a canvas,

him and i.

we began with nothing,

him and i.

somewhere along the way Love crept in through the back door when we weren’t looking and placed itself between

him and i.

stayed and stayed with

him and i.

stayed and painted with

him and i.

stayed and painted with

us.

then we all just

painted.

until there was nothing but

the painting.

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