LaMeta

The sign should have read “Don’t Touch.”

But I wouldn’t have listened.

My soul knew you, but to my eyes, you were a stranger. So when it seemed like I’d never meet you, life drew you. The grays weren’t so gray. The blues? Not so blue. You blew me away. An unexpected wind relocating a monarch. Too sudden, too quick, realizing her direction was changing.

CAUTION! The sign should have read. But there was no warning.

Only a fresh, top coat showing off vibrant colors. You didn’t look real. So I had to touch you. With dirty hands I touched your undried paints, taking some of you and leaving my imprint on your canvas. I felt guilt for ruining you, while you embraced the imperfections as your own simply because we’d touched.

The sign read “Wet Paint.” But it didn’t say “permanent.”