These words showed up on the projector in my english class for us to write about in about five minutes. As soon as they were processed I looked at you. Sitting at your desk reading the screen and I guess something clicked and you looked my way. It seemed like I was locked down by your gaze, which was unforgiving to say the least. Your usually warm brown eyes similar to that of milk chocolate, were hard and cold, now more similar to that of a brown stone. The timer started and it seemed like I could write endlessly on this topic. The words spewed out simply with so much ease that they were practically ingrained in my heart. You're like the moon so dark and beautiful, you bring the gentle breeze, and a night full of stars, full of promises. …show more content…
He was beautiful in the way he laughed and spoke, in the way he thought and saw the world. He saw it differently, in the most beautiful way, seeing things for not what they were but what they could be. For thinking outside the box, in the weirdest ways, for looking at something broken and thinking that it could be fixed. He was an artist, he was a work of art, so beautiful in every way, yet so broken himself. Not a clue to how to fix himself, but fixing everything else. He was glass, so fragile, so delicately made, so easily broken, yet so durable. The spark in his eyes could light the world on fire, and calm every storm, or at least mine. He was a contradiction, he calmed every storm, but he was my storm. He was art, but he was my broken art. He was beautiful, he was beautiful broken art. He was wild and free, and never could be tamed, but that was my mistake, believing that you could tame a wild heart. That’s how you get burned, by believing that you could tame something that was never yours. For something so wild, so free, so beautiful could never be fully yours, for it knows what it wants, it knows what it needs, and somewhere in my mind, I convinced myself I was what you needed, and in yours you always knew that I wasn’t enough, enough to tame the storm inside your heart, enough to fix the broken art you were, I was never enough to change your beautiful disastrous ways, and in that was my mistake. But I never wanted to, I was in love with your beautiful broken, disastrous soul that was art to me. You were a piece of art, a beautiful framed piece of art, that when I found it, it was like the missing piece to an art collection or the finishing touch of decorating a house. You completed it perfectly, and in that perfect way that you completed it, you broke me. In every way, shape, and form you could. And it was beautiful, every scratch, every cut, every burn was