Art

“You’ve changed.”

 

His words hung heavy in the air as she lifted her head and held his gaze;

dark eyes glazed with sadness and a cynical smile adorning her make-up smudged face.

Her raven hair flowed in message waves around her petite body,

as she swayed slightly on her feet; vodka coursed through her veins

while an unlit cigarette hung from between her delicate fingertips.

 

But she was still beautiful. Not the pure, innocent beauty she had been a year ago.

Rather a beauty more like art. A creation tainted by the broken soul of the artist.

He couldn’t deny the pang of regret he felt knowing he had held the paintbrush.

 

“I suppose I have.”

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