She’s gone (Artlessness)

She’s not here now, don’t look for her...It’s useless, she’s far away. But isn’t this part of your masterpiece? Your perfect work of art, a white canvas you thought you could paint on your own? Haven’t you been told women like her were already born with abstract brush strokes? Complex to understand when you stare at her for the first time. She isn’t the Girl with a pearl earring, even though she also exudes poise and fragility. Yet, you assumed you were her Vermeer. She isn’t the Lady with an Ermine, even though her smile is also as tenuous, almost hazy. Yet...You assumed you were her Da Vinci. You made her your muse, she might be flattered but it does not mean you’re entitled to modify the canvas she has been immortalised in, you’re not powerful to control her existence’s meaning... 

Because you didn’t create her at all...So why do you treat her like it’s her obligation to requite your love? She does not need to be minimised to a silent muse to feel whole. 

She doesn’t need to be saved, she did not ask to be saved. You decided for her, you told her to sit still, be pretty, less awake, to speak softer when her words were too full of truth, because to you the truth always sounded too harsh. I won’t apologise for not sugar coating it enough. You told her she was too much, you dragged her down when she attempted to fly, you told her she was not allowed to give her own self an interpretation because according to you…

That was for you to judge.

You told her to be volatile but forced her to hide her untameable nature. You claimed her yours and signed your name underneath her.

You trapped her inside exposition walls, glass doors, the first time she broke your heart you played with her enemies and befriended them all. You told her to be someone else... So, why are you in awe she left to become herself?

Why are you surprised she got scared?

The muse got bored, she did not want to come back to the artist that monopolised her. Last night I saw her digging a grave for your memory herself. Would she have more value once she is dead?

Now that she’s gone, you feel her absence and you wish that during the auction you hadn’t reduced her value to be less than who she is, you did not have much to offer yet you managed to anonymously bid. You wish you had given her the dignity she needs. Is she haunting you? Are you questioning your sanity? 

You painted her a starry night but your art forgery didn’t work this time...

Go ahead and mutilate your left ear, like you mutilated her trust with empty promises you never fulfilled. 

Isn’t it ironic now she’s the one who keeps you locked and forgotten in a museum that displays her failures and regrets. Put your brushes away from her...Your technique and talent were never good enough to paint her…

She has always been the only talented enough to do this, herself.