Eileen Villegas

Monochrome

I have once dreamt to be part

of your gallery – your ‘home’ lit

by the little colorful strokes

of your brushes. I have also fantasized

our faces painted in one frame, where

the center of interest uncovers

the authentic bliss we have. Love

paints. Art. Our passion. These all colored

the room in my daydream. I draw them

in the clouds, and every time I do, I see

rainbows appearing, stars shining.

Together. It happened. At once. Yet,

time passed by. Very quickly. I did

not notice. I did not see. Our masterpiece,

the creation, this art. It turned black

and white. Beauty lies. Dies. Indeed. I

grieve. Now, I wonder. Why? Your museum

went closed, and its doors were

locked. There is only one thing

left for me to see from the window

of your hallway – your abstraction

of another, of her. Clearly, a daub.

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