Gilded petals and amber-dipped horizons

i used to look at you like you painted the canvas for the moon with sepian tinges as a beginning — anything but white, for you refused it to reflect your mind — then proceeding to fill its emptiness with the colours of love. red, is what they told me. yellow, is what you taught me. just like the way all your canvases looked like they were dipped in amber-hues seas.
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i used to look at you like you gave life to the night by making stars rain on your canvas, a gleaming crescent as a comforting smile for the readers of art (i was the reader, one you lured so easily, one who found comfort in the silence of night).
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⠀⠀⠀𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆
⠀⠀⠀𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓-𝒅𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒕𝒔
⠀⠀⠀𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔
⠀⠀⠀𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒚𝒕𝒉
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i used to look at you like you were a mirage weaved within the constellations i couldn’t see, but now i look at you like you belong where you’ve always been. far from me, but right beside me. i used to imagine the twinkle of your eyes in the aureate sheen of moon petals, but now i see you counting sunflower petals beside me.
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[ perhaps ]
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⠀⠀⠀𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆, 𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒅𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆
⠀⠀⠀𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔’ 𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆
⠀⠀⠀𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒕𝒔
⠀⠀⠀𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒊𝒅 𝒊 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆
⠀⠀⠀𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖
⠀⠀⠀𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓
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