Painting Asta
I held your image in my hand and didn't know that it wasn't you.
Two paintings sit abandoned. Like a tiger ghost estate.
An ambition that was too much.
Now I can't go back.
To where you were.
To see your hair.
To see your chair.
To feel the woollen hug.
To hear the sigh of love pour out.
To be reminded that we are a small part of the all and we are the all that there is.
To come back to the peace.
To come back to the woods.
To go to your circle.