I used to think that you and I would finally put it all together someday, uncover our hearts and open our souls. I used to think we would stop being so proud and so stubborn about the logical course of things.
Eventually, I felt ready to take that leap, but you didn’t.
It was then that I learned about the listless feelings of dead-end hope, the waiting that never amounted to anything, and now, the regret of wasting so much time on you. Time I wasted not with you, but for you, alone in the days and nights that ran together like watercolors on a canvas of melancholy remorse.
I’m sad to say your canvas is nearly full. Soon, I will make my last stroke, put my paintbrush down, step back, and mourn the masterpiece you could have been, but will never be. Maybe for someone else, you will fill a canvas with light and life, but for me, you are only flat and without spirit.
I am sorry that I could not penetrate your heart and your soul, paint the very essence of you. I am sorry that I could not capture an image of you so profound and authentic, one so treasured that it would have been the crown jewel of my collection.
I am so very sorry, but it is time for me to face a new canvas, blindingly blank.
It is time for me to find inspiration elsewhere, to paint from a fresh, vibrant palette with colors that do not leave me feeling unfulfilled; but rather, satisfied and full of promise, unburdened and distinctively lighthearted, liberated from these dull depths to the undiscovered heights of heaven.
It is time for me to take a deep breath and start anew.