ART AND LOVE

You were once my art, but I just couldn’t live my life wondering why--

For once I managed to ask myself the question I never thought I would say, a song I never thought I would hum, and a familiar road I never thought I’d lose. Is this ‘fight’ we dreadfully kept hanging on to still worth the suffering? Is this thing we managed to call ‘love’ still worth the heartbreak? I’ve been so caught up in the illusion that every little thing can and will always be conquered by ‘love’. But what’s twisted is that, even the slightest prick of the tiniest little thorn on the daintiest finger still manages to bleed; and little by little, the one thing you once thought was endless, now begins to wither; slowly and gracefully, as if it wasn’t dying. You see, even though you managed to put a bandage on that wound, it still leaves a scar, destroying the perfect illusion and perception you have in your own little world. What once you thought was porcelain, now can be replaceable by something else; something more captivating--but different.

I love art; and ‘love’ should be like art. It should feel untouchable, like no one else can conquer it. It should be timeless and simultaneously passionate. You can’t live your life settling for less, and I shouldn’t too. These may be the last of our sentences, but here’s something you should do. The next time you see a canvas, paint something on it yourself; so that you would be the only one who has ever laid their hands on it, make it yours, and yours alone. Never let go of something you created--love it endlessly. For an art [love] that is so beautiful isn’t meant to be replaced, but loved timelessly.

However, here’s the difference between people and art. From person to person, you perceive them differently and connect with them that is uniquely genuine from every living soul on the earth. You can have relationships with them, touch their inner persona, be with them anywhere; but they also come and go. While art—it is something permanent. No matter how old it gets, how faded emotions may seem or how dry the layers of hard work may look like; it is still there, it effortlessly hangs on the walls you wish you could live in, it is part of history, your life. You could judge, criticize, admire, or shame whatever you see on the canvas, but the pastel isn’t going to change. You still can’t touch it. You could live your life wondering how and why on earth was it felt by the artist, but you still couldn’t touch it.

One day, I’m going to stop writing about you. One damn day I’m going to open my eyes and convince myself that you are not worth the sleepless nights anymore; no matter how deep you’ve gone, no matter how painful it is to finally let you go, I’m going to do it—because I’ve run out of bedtime stories to save myself from the anxiety of being not being with you; Through the years my soul has been unjustifiably pierced by something so beautiful yet deadly. You’ve been a savior in my eyes, yet a sinner in my heart. How can something so mesmerizing be so deceitful at the same time?

#BLOG #JOURNAL