Ananda

You are art.

Your body is art, a form made up of trillions of molecules, fit together in an impossible combination to form you. You are a framework of flesh and bones, here purely by coincidence but here, beautifully, nonetheless.

When you smile, you are a gallery of paintings new and old. Pearly white edges or a yellowing canvas. Only there for those that look close enough, only there for those that see that you’re art.

A sculpture that flows, slowly through a moment of time. The curve of your hair, the movement of your lips as you speak and your arms as you hold. You never knew that motion could be so alluring.

Your words are whispers in the wind, poetry written in what you say and how you feel. It is art, you are art. ♦