Survival wasn't even in the question
before learning what artistry can do.
Painting was peaceful (even if trial by fire)
and the way you'd sing to me while I
doodled across the pages of your rhythms
was cathartic in ways I didn't know existed.
Survival requires healing - something
akin to breathing despite being ten feet
below sea level six days out of seven,
so really it's no surprise I was living
without any idea what that meant.
Had you and your box of paints
not found your way to my front door
I don't think I'd ever have understood
what I was doing here on Earth.
I learned so much from you
before you forgot how to survive.
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