a whisper of words

it's a metaphor, you see.


13. nat




nat, she was art. she was so beautiful, you never got tired of looking at her. she wasn't the mona lisa or the scream or the starry night. you couldn't compare her to those masterpieces. not because she wasn't good enough, but because she was even better. she was her own artist. you could see each stroke of the brush in all her curves and blemishes. you wished you were the artist so you could claim her as your own. she didn't belong in a gallery, but with you. so you spent all your money and she was worth every penny, though she'd never truly be yours.

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