Work Of Art

I was done. I carefully held the sketchbook in my hands as I admired the character that I had just created. I brushed my thumb across the sketch.

I looked at his flawless face, his jawline was not a bit out of place, a perfect shape that framed his face.

His eyes a beautiful shade of brown. When you looked into them, you could get lost in the endless void.

His lips curved up into a sly smirk across his face.

His posture was perfect, a straight line, not a joint out of place.

I couldn’t help but become mesmerized by my drawings beauty. His perfection drew my eyes and I couldn’t look away. But I didn’t want to look away. I wanted to look into his beautiful eyes and brush my thumb across his perfectly plump lips.

I wanted to touch him and feel every flawless curve. I wanted to trace his lips with mine. I wanted him.

It was hard for me to snap back into reality. It was hard for me to remember that he wasn’t real. I wanted him to be real so badly and he wasn’t. I didn’t have that person.

I didn’t have that one person who loved me more than anything. I didn’t have that one person who would come at my beck and call. That’s all I want. I want a kind, beautiful, loyal, flirty boy. Who loves me.

I don’t have that though. Maybe that’s why I sketched this one. To plant inside my brain. To try and believe that there is someone out there that’s for me. To try and picture what true love looks like. It made me come to realize that I don’t want to be alone. That I wanted to have someone by my side who cared for me and appreciated me.

That’s why this drawing is so painful.

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