Drawing a blank shouldn't be too hard. I mean, no wasted graphite or anything. Or ink, or whatever medium you're using (including brain cells). However: "How do I make it pretty?" she asked me. "Just add your face in the corner with a little love," I said laying there on the bed watching her from across the room. She was painting. She was gorgeous. 'Gorgeous' being the greatest compliment I can give, right up there above 'potentially mod.' "I want these paintings to be visual representations of your poetry I think, but I don't know if I can do it," she stated. "Yeah," I said, "I don't think you should tone down your creative output to my meager level." She threw a paint brush at me. We laughed, "Quit being so damn modest you lovely freak," she said smiling. "I'll try, Love," flipping Dylan with a pop and a hiss. She prepared a new canvas, and I grabbed the pen and sketch book to write. From the angle, I couldn't see what she was painting. Time passed. "Come here and look at this," she said, "I kind of like it." I went over to see. What I saw was an impressionist's representation of me sitting cross-legged on the bed writing in my book, set in front of me, with a cigarette in my left hand and a cup of tea steaming near by on the night stand. "Will you put this on the cover of your next book?" she asked. "Definitely, it's amazing," I said, "but I thought you wanted to paint something pretty?" "I did," she responded, "but I decided to go ugly and I though of you." She had brilliantly outsmarted me. Our foreheads met and then our eyes. We embraced and smiled. These are the moments where love takes over. These are the moments I'd love to possess. Some say that getting there is half the fun, but there are no road maps for where I'm trying to go. I guess love is some kind of unmarked territory. Only the lost and blind can discover it properly.Birth sign: Sagittarius
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