There is so much beauty...

I met this girl once and I was telling her about how hard the writing is for me, how it always has been; somewhere along she told me to see and look at how everything, that there is so much beauty, in it all. I've never seen her again, but amongst those few moments we had together, she was struggling to paint this something beautiful, although we were unable to comprehend what it was...

...but it was beautiful until in a manic-depressive stupor I sat and quietly watched her tear it all apart. I wanted to be nice, so I tore up my paperwork to help fuel the several sheets of heavy, white- recycled paper, the kind with a rough texture and clothy-feel, we set the remnants on fire. In the romance of it all we talked about hope, the idea of it. The intimacy was in our doubts and yearnings for a sense of quietness within. I guess we knew we wouldn't be able to see each other anymore. Its impossible to tell if I'd missed the boat, but I think if we'd tried and merged the art, we would have figured some sort of alchemy. Or maybe we'd have simply set of each others own little self-centered universes... to smoke, all like a dark flame and landscape riddled with fallen stars. I regret not reaching out to touch her. But while she slept, I did reach out to pull and then keep the blue-stained paintbrush she had used to tie her hair up with.