That is not what you said that evening
When I actively brought the painting to you
Angrily chopping your onions
You said: “a painting is not the only thing there is to life”
These words cut through my inner being and tore me to endless pieces
I looked at how you and your onions ganged up on me
Your words stole my ability to paint
I am not sure if I cried or was it just your onions
But my eyes were wet