Watching Mina draw
was as soothing
as watching the birds
without the need
for binoculars.
Her long, dark curls
danced in the wind
as her eyes shifted
from the ocean
to the canvas,
from the canvas
to the ocean,
and back.
The tip of her colored pencils
pressed against the canvas
back and forth, back and forth,
in a crosshatch pattern,
sometimes gently, sometimes not,
just like the ocean waves.
He loved how their lives
intertwined like the lines
on her sketchbook,
adding depth and beauty.
He watched her cheeks
glow a rosy pink
under the golden sky.
Her cream-colored blouse
billowed in the wind.
She smiled as she sketched.
Her lips – a soft, smooth
magenta pink,
and he wanted to kiss
her right then.
She took a sip
of her coffee,
leaving some lipstick
behind
and interrupted
his thoughts.
“What’s your story?”
she asked, looking at him
with her inquisitive eyes.
Read more memory poems here.
Whisperings 