I wasn’t a painter

Reina El Itaoui
Lundi 12 Avril 2021

I wasn’t a painter, 

and neither were you.

Yet you got us a blank canvas for two.

The concept - a stranger,

I didn’t know how to paint.

Back then, I only knew restraint.


Thus, I asked you:

Were I to, what would I even do?

Ink was the only way I knew.

To me, all of it was new:

What if we don’t make it through?


You looked up, you smiled too.

Your exact words: ”I’d remember you.”

My mind left to make-up, 

You had started with blue. 

With guards still up,

In my defense:

I was drawn by what you drew.


Afraid to fall, 

I believed, I was cautious. 

When all you’ve done was stand tall, 

I guess, I was just nervous. 

For, ever since you came along,

my worries narrowed to few.

Holding back for so long,

I dropped my hand in paint

- at last, I drew. 


You painted a world without border,

I told you I could use a map 

- some kind of alphabetical order.

We did close that gap,

Yet, I kept looking at the corner.

I wanted to know what was in store, 

While all you did, was give beauty to the unknown. 


Urging me to paint, 

You were all but a painter.

I did not want to taint,

How could I not worry about later?

To you, lied beauty in it:

To splash without stressing every bit.

My thoughts - they fought and they fit,

All the while, your eyes - up, they lit.


How not to get lost in eyes,

That saw and promised light 

- Tender and kind, past all disguise?

Heart on sleeve that night,

Taking risks was not a forte.

Thrilled, painting over the white, 

Through veins - I believe, Adrenaline found a way.

Your smile broadening- you noticed:

None of the white remains.


I wasn’t a painter, and neither were you.

Yet you got us a blank canvas for two. 

See, on smiles, I lingered

On that canvas, we drew.

We painted with our fingers,

Together, we both grew. 

As for our triggers?

On their own, they withdrew.


To recall time before you -implausible.

Letting out a breath, unconsciously held:

Indeed, I was vulnerable 

- but, only to you.

Now, have it spelled: You gave me no rose,

You gave me your hand.

All in a dose,

You taught me to paint with bare hands.

Now, have it spelled: 

Forever thankful, I am most

-to you.

Because, up on a stand,

Our canvas found its post.

No longer a ghost, 

lies all that we drew.