Had I not

Had I not been a writer,
Then I wondered,
Was there ever,
Between you and me,
Been a story to,
Be written about?

Had I not been a poet,
Now I wonder,
Was there ever a time,
Where you and I,
Had shared so poetic,
Thoughts turning to poems?

If I am not an artist,
I ask my future,
Is there any vision,
Of you and I,
Colliding anywhere else,
Then on paper or canvas,
Turning out to be,
More then just my imaginary?

"We are all blank canvases waited to be coloured,
Why not pain, for you have brushes as hands..."

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