#this is who I wrote about mid last year making a reoccurring star role

[futur3lov3r]

Did you read the book I recommended? Do you understand now, my Dorian?

There were so many ways you could’ve spun the end of us, and you chose to paint me as a liar? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t worry how you paint your words. You were never the artist you portrayed yourself as; too technical and logical, you never stitched your very skin to what you create like I did. You could’ve easily shown your work to anyone, without feeling like it bore your very soul. Maybe you made the right choice in separating yourself from your work, my heavy involvement, no, my obsessive entanglement with my work, has only been a deficit. I think there’s quite a bit of truth in the saying that the muse longs to be the artist, and the artist yearns to be the muse. For years I prayed to be in your spot, to exist in the world beautifully, I paint my face 100 layers thick and am considered as much as art as plain grey wallpaper, you’re considered worthy of sculptures in your honor without effort. I longed to have your ability to convince others that your whims were their very own, to have those who you simply consider amusing occasionally, writing hundreds of poems, even entire books about you. But I could never give up my devotion, even if it meant a beautiful youth like yours. I am unfortunately the most known artist to display you, I have burned my paintings and ground my sculptures to dust, now all that is left of the works of you, are my words.