Literature

He is Art, My Art

There is a guy out there, who lives nearly 6,500 km away from me, who just so happens to be the best person I know of.

The more I talk to him, the more I realise he’s the only person that I could possibly describe with the Italian word meraviglia. And even that term falls short of his grandeur.

He is a beautiful masterpiece; my very own piece of art, if you may. But he hasn’t got a clue about how much he’s worth, even if it is thanks to him that my heart overflows in love.

But here I am. Me. Flawed and imperfect. Trying my best to make him happy. Not only for a moment, but forever.

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