It’s just that
I’m not as interesting as they were
Watercolors, sketches, yarn draping over the bed sheets,
moleskins full of lines, scribbled in dark pen.
I’ve never lived in a big city
I don’t brood in dark corners with
(pen, paint brush, knitting needle) in hand
Crafting yet more beauty for you
To write about
I’m not an artist
I don’t affect change
My creativity extends to arranging text and graphics on a presentation slide.
So forgive me when I get lost
In archived months of writing
Call it what you will
It’s a diary of the days spent
With people of your past
The artists and lovers and dreamers
You and [person’s name]
Being philosophical, creative, deep,
You being, yet again, the force that shows others how to live more
Philosophically, creatively, deeply.
It’s no wonder they all fall
Why I read despite knowing I shouldn’t
We are captivated by your beauty.
It’s just that.
April 18, 2014