The Artist

You were an artist.
You drew.
You painted.
And you lived through your art.
You loved me.
I know that now.
And I loved you,
years later.
I searched and found
so many things
that were wrong with you.
You were pretty,
but not beautiful.
You were talented,
but not enough.
The things you cared about,
I found trivial.
But I was the one
who met you
and asked you out.
I was the one
who flattered you
and made you feel special.
And then I was the one
who dismissed you
and looked for love
around you.
I broke off our relationship
and moved on quickly.
But I circled back
and gave you hope
before dashing off again.
Just today I found a flyer
that advertised your show.
I went online
and saw your work
and knew that you were talented,
more so than I ever gave you credit for.
I saw your photo
and realized
just how beautiful you are.