Call me "He"
I know what information I hold up to this day isn't quite enough to elaborately describe who you are as person but I'll give it a shot.
I met you, no.
I never have met you in person.
Even if I feel like knowing you for years, we haven't know each other that much yet.
It started me, getting a little bit bored, as you are too, started thinking of ways to amuse myself, and escape the constant pain brought by the vast world of reality. And so, I started putting of my interest; set it to "Pup" and started talking to a random stranger.
A stranger who is in the same year as mine, a stranger who I share the same strand as well, also a stranger who holds the same pen as I do, but sways differently. Who writes on the same paper as I do, but with much more details and a bit more pieces of eraser and I knew it, that someday; masters of different arts will cross the roads and be able to write pieces of their own, and pieces to call their own, master pieces it may sound but the only master piece I can tell, is when the master writes about a different art as well.
And you, you are an art form waiting to be finished, as to final touches it may seem to lack, I know that you are in progress, unfinished, but aren't we all unfinished? And sometimes we need another person to continue what we have started to search for ourselves, to search with ourselves.
And me, I am more than willing to whip or WIPs and let my words collapse unto the edges of your portrait, let my ink collide with your lead and produce a darker shade of black, let my old piece of paper crumple with your canvass and I know it is never as expensive as mine but it is always better to collaborate with me, use my words to portray every single event of pictures you have drawn, and I will do the same, to let your pictures be a caption to my words as if we compliment each other. And you know it, when two different art forms are joined together you form a museum of thoughts, memories, people, places and significant events to begin with, and let us see who sees us, claps for us, will buy our pieces, will hang them on their walls as a master piece.
And If we, aren't formed to be together, and if my ink will mess around your canvass, when the sharpness of your pen might tear down my old pieces of paper, that when my words aren't enough to describe what happens in you picture and if your picture does not compliment my words anymore, and if your art is entirely different now, I'll let it be. I'll let it be, a museum of our History.
And maybe if your art isn't you and me,
And if you are ever thinking twice about me,
About how your arts, had been growing so differently,
And you are to protect your heart against me,
remember this from me,
You can always call me,
But save my number and change my nickname into "He",
Because whenever I'm with you, your ART with me, with HE. Your art will simply be your HEART.
Your heart is surely safe with me.
I met you, no.
I never have met you in person.
Even if I feel like knowing you for years, we haven't know each other that much yet.
It started me, getting a little bit bored, as you are too, started thinking of ways to amuse myself, and escape the constant pain brought by the vast world of reality. And so, I started putting of my interest; set it to "Pup" and started talking to a random stranger.
A stranger who is in the same year as mine, a stranger who I share the same strand as well, also a stranger who holds the same pen as I do, but sways differently. Who writes on the same paper as I do, but with much more details and a bit more pieces of eraser and I knew it, that someday; masters of different arts will cross the roads and be able to write pieces of their own, and pieces to call their own, master pieces it may sound but the only master piece I can tell, is when the master writes about a different art as well.
And you, you are an art form waiting to be finished, as to final touches it may seem to lack, I know that you are in progress, unfinished, but aren't we all unfinished? And sometimes we need another person to continue what we have started to search for ourselves, to search with ourselves.
And me, I am more than willing to whip or WIPs and let my words collapse unto the edges of your portrait, let my ink collide with your lead and produce a darker shade of black, let my old piece of paper crumple with your canvass and I know it is never as expensive as mine but it is always better to collaborate with me, use my words to portray every single event of pictures you have drawn, and I will do the same, to let your pictures be a caption to my words as if we compliment each other. And you know it, when two different art forms are joined together you form a museum of thoughts, memories, people, places and significant events to begin with, and let us see who sees us, claps for us, will buy our pieces, will hang them on their walls as a master piece.
And If we, aren't formed to be together, and if my ink will mess around your canvass, when the sharpness of your pen might tear down my old pieces of paper, that when my words aren't enough to describe what happens in you picture and if your picture does not compliment my words anymore, and if your art is entirely different now, I'll let it be. I'll let it be, a museum of our History.
And maybe if your art isn't you and me,
And if you are ever thinking twice about me,
About how your arts, had been growing so differently,
And you are to protect your heart against me,
remember this from me,
You can always call me,
But save my number and change my nickname into "He",
Because whenever I'm with you, your ART with me, with HE. Your art will simply be your HEART.
Your heart is surely safe with me.
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