Broken heart inspires the best kind of muse, they say. And I pretty much agree with them. When the person you love leaves you, they leave you with smithereens of your own heart and words. Words which try to paint your canvas with hues of gray. For what colours do you expect from them?
Colours are to be expected from someone like you. You paint my world baby, it's no longer gray. I lost muse long back and I hardly write on love anymore. For I fall short of words to describe your love. Yes, my poetry cannot capture your being. Maybe that pop song we both love can. For you are not poetry, you are a pop song. You are not sadness, you are joy.