What I could say that would capture your heart never need pass in thought nor over my lips… For what good would it do behold a heart that does not see the light of day, for caged birds do not sing…

… and I have waited patiently to hear your song… Though I must confess that despite the fact that my ears had not heard a single note, my soul would tune in… listening closely when you were near… Wondering the color of your love…?

And what I would do should that pigment ever stain my fingers…

If allowed to take my hands, submerge them into you and with your essence at my fingertips… compose the world of your dreams right before your eyes… using nothing but your primary colors provided…

… Your reds of anger, frustration and love…

… Yellows of your happiness and laughter…

… Blues of your tranquility and also sadness…

Three colors and a world of possibilities all contained in one heart…

So how dare I to ever try and detain one that beats in melodies that make my soul waltz in thoughts of your color pouring into me slowly like finger-paints yet fluid as watercolors… yet I would never want to draw a single tear… diluting the intensity of your world…

… I am your painter… and the canvas upon which I paint your dreams will be my own beating heart…