The Art of letting Go | POEM
Let the brush stroke in its own and make its own art.
You painted the walls as you painted my world.
You gave me hope as I felt the agony in me.
You were an Art. Before.
You were the artist.
You've drawn the line I should follow.
But---Why am I missing?
The line was cut amid.
I was about to turn my back to go back where I thought I belong.
I was right.
I should just be here.
Far from you. Just far from you.