He stands up the easel and lifts up a fresh canvas. He sees the picture, the woman he always sees when he closes his eyes. If it weren’t for the possible color discrepancies he could paint the image blindfolded.
First he paints the outline of her face, with every stroke is another quality that he has never seen nor anyone else has. With every passing moment his eyes sink deeper into his work. He is no longer holding the brush, it is holding him.
Next in the painting is her figure, he sees it so vividly in his mind. Her body is flawless in his eyes. When she is around, his eyes never stray. With every swipe is another mark of perfection…. This is his painting, he sees it as just that.
Now that the outlines and not so basic features of her has been laid out, he begins to add her color. He may be painting between the lines but in his mind this is no longer a painting.
He is slowing shaping her personality, as he paints her smile.He adds her intellect as he sculpts the expression on her face.Finally the love she has for him, with the way he has her eyes staring right back at him.
After hours of painting that seemed graceful and intricate at the same time, he is finished. She’s beautiful. This is a piece of art that will hang on his wall for a very long time…A year goes by and there the painting stands. He keeps it in his room but since he keeps his windows open at night. It has become jaded from the weather outside of their existence.
Afraid to lose the ambiance of the painting he always touches it up when it seems to be compromised. Without knowing it however, he subtly changes each feature trying to keep it the same.
Some time passes and after all minor rectifications the painting is no longer what it used to be. The smile with the temperament may not be the same. The figure that seemed so perfect before is no more than ordinary.
None of this bothers him because the eyes of the painting still look at him the same way. Through all this time and aging, that’s all that matters.
One morning he awakes.Walking by that painting he has held so dear for so long. He notices the eyes have finally faded. With tears in his eyes and a brush in hand, he takes a few strokes and covers the eyes.
With the best intentions, he has covered or replaced every blemish that seemed to be perfect before. Her personality has faded over time, so he would fruitlessly try to replicate the colors. The painting is no longer what it was.
Now broken hearted he stares at what his painting has become.He doesn’t want to believe it, but his work of art has now once again become an empty canvas…