My art and "him"

"So, I've read all your works but seems like there's no trace on those pieces that would hook up your past relationship. When will you write for him?" a close friend once asked me.

"I wrote a few lines about him after we broke up. Weeks passed by and I didn't still have the perfect words to form a good stanza. And now, I finally realized something; the reason why I can't write for him anymore is because he don't deserve to be written in poetry. It was my kind of art, and he was just nothing than a faded memory," I replied.

"That's ironic. Look, you just made another craft using words. And this time, you wrote about him."

"No, don't misunderstand me. He isn't my poetry anymore. He, and my art, they don't intertwine anymore. Something so beautiful doesn't deserve to be with something devastating - something that isn't real, pure, and gentle." I smiled.

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