The King I painted

I painted you in shades of gold, Until my mother asked me why I made you bold A king between my pages and the tales I loved to tell, When I could’ve made you exile, magician, or dragon as well. It made me wonder are things ever that plain? Good and bad, joy and pain? You said, “Make me your villain if it brings you peace,” But it only brought me pieces never release. And I can’t help thinking that you knew, Exactly what kind of mess you’d lead me through. So tell me, what did it mean to you? Was it all bad, when it felt good too? When the thought of you stole my sleep at night, And my heart danced between wrong and right. Now I’m stuck unsure, torn in two, A part of me still reaching for you. Just to hear your voice again, To see if it soothes or brings me pain. To know if you sound like a prince returned, Or a wolf in sheep's skin, whose truth I’ve learned. So I can decide what’s truly true If I’m in love with you, Or with the way you make me dream Of stories whispered unseen Coffee warm, and shadows deep, Where your memory won’t let me sleep.