Thereafter

Mona Lisa and her love for her creator.

When I had eyes, I was captivated by you,

unblinking, I dared not tear my eyes away

even if I could.

When I had lips, curled permanently in a smile,

I knew your secrets, but you knew not mine,

and I could never whisper them.

When I had hands, they were oh so close to yours,

But they lay useless in my lap,

I could not reach out to you.

How delicately you created me, how loving.

How thrilled I was to be the one your eyes lingered upon, 

as if you and I knew each other, once.

You completed me.

But I could do no more for you than to watch,

an unmoving presence to console and mock simultaneously.

Time will wear me slower than you,

and it will be agony.

I only wish to fade and disappear as you did,

but someone continues to trace carelessly, harshly,

over your gentle strokes, your fingerprints and sighs.

I almost scream recompense, 

give me an end, let me live fleetingly,

beautiful once, and a memory thereafter.

I was to be only yours.