Николай Малыхин — I Drew You

On the table a blank sheet
Not written on, clean
White as snow that no one has pressed
It invited me in
To draw and begin something
Though what I could not yet guess
I pick up my pants, I glide and I scroll
A strange portrait forms in my head
But her eyes, for some reason, don't meet mine at all
Such a beautiful, sad, distant glance