She was art. A clay human covered in paint. Watercolors
carefully crafted to resemble skin, hair, nails, and clothes.
Her body, her bones crafted with precision. Her heart and
brain fragile masterpieces tucked away under her layers.
She was art.
He was rain. A shower of thoughts and ambitions flooding
his body and mind. Thunder rumbling in his soul hoping
that the next one who tried to help brought an umbrella.
His skin covered in ripples and his heart with dark clouds.
He was rain.
When rain met art, at first it was beautiful. Colors circling in
puddles, creating new shapes, new ideas, new loves. But paint
dilutes with too much water. Clay melts when drenched. Voices
disappear when drowned out by thunder. Colors start to fade till
they are nothing.