You were my gallery,
-every part of you beautiful.
And all I did was hang with you,
alongside you
-an ornament, a piece of decoration.
You decided it was too much.
You created another perspective,
slightly askew,
a different angle
-you tried to adjust.
Not art, not a masterpiece
-a picture.
A passing image;
the missing piece,
to be replaced
-with ease.
A floating fragment,
left searching
for the bigger picture.
And now…broken pieces,
Scattered -
so many.
It was such a sight. All torn up.