She asked me to draw her a picture of a castle once. Her castle. She was a princess you see, and I thought her my queen. I could never fulfill this request. All I could draw, could paint, was her. She filled me up: my eyes when shut, my mouth when empty, my heart when unsuspecting.
It was just a picture of a fantasy, an image of a dream she once had. We dreamt so grande together once. But dreamers always weep.
A painting she could never touch, never taste, never feel. The sight of a place she would never be. With a glimpse she would visit but never plan to stay.
I could not paint you a castle, my love, for that would never suffice. I would have built you one. With this heart and these two hands I would have spent my life building something wonderful with you.
Now all I have are your framed images of joy and hope and love, captured recordings of expressions you showed me once. You showed me the real you and I gave you everything I knew to give. Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t enough. I can’t look at them without crying. I can’t remember you without dying.
Our castle is lost, buried in the sand of time. I can’t even remember what it looks like; I was never good at drawing castles.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s