Faint are the streaks of your love for me, dear one...
painted across the canvas of our life.
Subtle, intricate and measured.

Some day, when time would dry
the parchment of your inhibitions and fears,
and as it'd wear off, like chapped lips in winter,

you'd know that those weren't just streaks,
but it was your masterpiece,
hidden behind the violent strokes of your past,
reducing your canvas to just a few streaks
of the person that you once were...
oh you still are...

- AbhiN