She was an artist, he was a writer.
She painted paintings so beautiful, they would shame a radiant
rose.
He created literature so brilliant, they were admired by audiences
far and wide.
They were lovers.
One painted with passion, the other wrote with zeal.
Both inspired by love.
The love they shared was pure and beautiful.
Alas, she was met with a great misfortune.
The doctor diagnosed her with an incurable disease.
He was devastated, but he stood strong.
She needed him most and he could not afford to falter.
She painted him a final painting.
A man and a woman sitting at the beach, the sun setting.
It was a painting of them, the love they shared.
He wrote her a final prose.
Fate brought us together, he wrote.
It will never keep us apart.
The inevitable came.
She appeared peaceful, a smile formed on her pale lips.
He knew this day would come.
But he wept all the same.
He went away, taking the painting she painted of them.
Some said he found new love.
Others rumoured he met with an accident.
They were lovers, the artist and the writer.
He held her in his arms, watching the sun setting.
Fate brought them together once again.
It never kept them apart.
