Wassily Kandinsky/Wikimedia Commons

His beige worn out shirt,with patches of “accidents”marked by paint strokesand the touch of sadnesshanging by the hem of the sides of his sleeves.Heartache smiles,as he paints her lipsin the most luscious pink he could come up withwhile his heart sinksin every moment in between. My father plays his piano off-keyhoping to see my mother …

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