A Painting of You

You asked me to paint a picture of you, and I smiled and said that I would.  I love to paint, and I would love to paint you.  You sat down and and stayed very still, looking at me and smiled.  I sat behind an isle with paint, and brush in hand.  I worked for hours and went through so much paint.  I wanted to make sure that I captured everything.  I looked at you, stared at you to the point that I saw through you and painted everything that I saw.  They days passed and you still waited patiently, always smiling.  When I was finally done and I went to show you my work, you frowned and said that the picture wasn't of you at all, or of a person.  I smiled.  The picture was of you, however not what you were expecting.  I painted what I saw, and I don't see your face or your body.  I don't see your smiles, or your frowns.  I don't see your movements, your flaws, your talents, your imperfections.  I see you.  I see your soul.  I see your personality, your love, your passion, your sense of humor.  I see your breath.  I see your tears.  I see the weight on your shoulders, and the pride in your chest.  That is what I painted.  When I told you this, I saw the love in your eyes, and I felt you kiss my cheek.