If Only

If only I could paint, I would dip an artist’s brush in nature and color the landscape of your life entwined with mine as forest trees growing together reaching for the sun. I would draw your hair, the color of falling ripe acorns, tumbling across my path until gently resting on solid ground. I would paint the curve of your face in broad, sweeping strokes as if etched into ancient lands until chiseled in stone and carved with graces of time. I would reach for my reflection in the depths of your enigmatic eyes and portray their mysteries in bottomless, black pools. I would trace the flutter of your eyelashes and feel the breath of a gentle breeze against my skin. I would blow onto the wet painting and blur the lines until the calm of a soft night sky emerged sparkling with the wonder of myriad twinkling lights.

If only I could paint, I would dip my brush into your heart and draw a cave beckoning for me to enter. I would lightly feather your bubbling laughter spilling down canyons in wild abandonment splattering my life with goodness. Your strength would stand tall as the oaks weathering a white world until you showed me the colors of spring, summer and fall before drawing back within. Rooted in the earth, your independence would withstand trials and your character would be perennial seeds effortlessly emerging regardless of trodden steps on a leaf strewn trail. Your kindness and mercies would rise high in the background as a sheltering bluff protecting all who draw close to your warmth seeking shelter against ravaging storms. My finger would reach into the soft pastels of a sudden rainbow and design perpetual surprises seen by those who look with love. The birds would soar in complex patterns against the sky detailing a keen intelligence. Featured as the backdrop on my canvas, your soul would shine like the sun casting warm rays into wooded crevices.

If only I knew your name, I could paint.