I miss dating an artist. I miss the fiery passion, his lust for beauty, his desire to create it. I miss writing stories and having him illustrate and seeing my work come alive. I miss him painting on my body, and becoming one of his masterpieces. There’s nothing like loving an artist and once he’s gone, you feel like an empty canvas. You crave color, you crave vision. You’re just blank, dull. You look for the beauty in things by yourself once he’s gone, but in all honesty, it’s not as glorious when there’s no one there to be in awe with you….