Unspoken Words

a story of loss pain and recovery its just a little something random to practice my writing.

• Poetry

								
The Artist stood in the middle of his studio, his eyes scanning over the half-completed works. Each painting was a memory, a moment frozen in time, a question unasked.
His fingers were stained with colors, as he traced the face painted on the canvas. A face that was no longer there to smile back at him. “How are you?” he whispered to the silent room.

He stood before the grave, the cold wind biting into his skin. “How are you?” he asked the gravestone, the unspoken words echoing in the silence. His hands clenched at his sides as he fought the tears. He missed her- her laughter, her voice, her warmth. The world felt colder without her.

He picked up his brush, dipping it into the swirling colors. His hand moved with a mind of its own, his heart pouring out onto the canvas. Every stroke was a word, every color an emotion. “How are you?” he painted, the words hidden within the layers of paint.

He watched as people admired his work, their faces reflecting the emotions he had poured into each painting. He had bared his soul for the whole world to see. Among the crowd, a woman stared at one of his paintings, her eyes filled with tears. “How are you?” she whispered, echoing his unspoken words.

He sat staring at his portrait, lost in the depth of her eyes. “I miss you” he whispered, his unspoken words filling the silent room. His heart ached with the loss, the emptiness in his soul. But he found solace in his art, the pain turned into beauty on a canvas.

He stood there, under the starlit sky, his heart filled with a strange sense of calm. “I'm okay” he whispered to the gravestone, his words carried away by the wind.
He knew she was gone, but he also knew she lived in his heart, his art. And with every painting, he would ask “How are you?”.


The End…
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