I am a clean slate.
A blank canvass to the inspired painter. Whose gestures with the worn brush distill emotion into imagery, sentiment into sentient scenery. His strokes define and expound on affections, from the minutest of nuances, to the expanse of my skin. He will draw upon his own actions to discover the curvature of my consciousness. And I will be his willing plate, for the feast of his senses.
I come to him pristine and birthed, from a frugality of experience and the washed out ebbing of my beating chest. He will weave his stories through my stretched linen plateaus, from the Indian ink he drips, to the vivid colors he conjures. He will awaken me to his touch, and I by my eyes.
And I will be his masterpiece, and he will be mine.
Image from here.
5 redmarks:
Ah, a new beginning. :) I like the attitude that after a breakup, you start with a clean slate, a pure white canvass.
Not like me, who is left with so much grease and livid colors of the past handler.
Kahit hanggang dito sa blog mo, emotera pa rin ako. Hahaha
So this is what a drunk post looks like.
@~Carrie~ Livid is such a strong word. We are never entirely a clean slate though. If we are, we'd make the same mistakes over and over again.
@drew But being inebriated can mean a myriad of things. Don't you think so?
We never live; we are always in the expectation of living.
-Voltaire
wala lang. share ko lang, hehe
=)
@Désolé Boy I must agree, sir. And to quote him as well: Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination. Thanks for visiting. :)
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