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Art

I find you in between the thin gaps of uncoloured spaces in a painting that is enthralled with the heart and soul of an artist;
for thou art the voids that can't be filled.

I find you in between the spaces of semicolons hoping to join the further clause, from a writer's diary revealing the emotions similar to that of mine; for thou art the pause for a beautiful sentence.

I find you in between the subtle movements of a dancer's legs that are struggling for perfection, and those subtleties excite me like you do; for thou art my dancing distortion.

Voids. Pauses. Distortions. 
What is art, if not these and if not for these?
An art full of uniqueness and an art full of resemblance.








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