Portrait

Blank canvas on a dark wall.

Contrast,

unintentional and haunting.

White void, waiting

to be filled

and tarnished by a mortal hand.

Brush shaking

between my fingers,

afraid of touching,

afraid of permanence,

afraid of all the paintings in latent states,

mere possibilities that are yet to be brought to life.

And of all,

I chose to paint your face.

Skin in peachy tones

and a tired, melancholic smile,

which you’ve never told me the reason for.

I paint the gentle lighting on your forehead,

then the one on your nose,

the nose which looks so wrong to you

and so tragically beautiful to me;

Two white flecks in your eyes,

in which my own get lost -

the focal point.

I paint light rays with no source

and I let them caress your cheeks,

cautiously

wishing I could someday do the same.

And then I let the landscape of your face cast shadows,

And in that moment I am god,

giving you

dark spots under your eyes

for all the sleepless nights you’ve hidden from me

and I contour your lips with the hurting lies you’ve told,

to others

and to yourself.

I paint the shadows

on the side of your head;

the vile escaped thoughts

you thought I would forget about.

The picture gains depth,

little by little,

but it still can’t capture the wholeness of your existence.

Oh, if only you knew how

I observed your shadows and

your faults and

all the sides of you that you hate.

And I chose to paint them and

make you real

and round

and near.

And the painting still needs work;

It’s my longing for perfection -

an audacious attempt.

But I still don’t know which side of you

I want to change -

the one that doesn’t love me

or the one that hates you?

Copil Celestina, XB