Why does my drifting mind tug at me, I wonder? I pay it attention, after all. Suddenly, you came to me and exclaimed "I have just the thing!", withdrawing a rich, apple-red, felted pen from the outset. I was glowing, in a surprised confidence that I could plainly address.
"I love you more than you can know", I meant to tell you, and I smiled. Applying felt tip to silk, I gestured a lifted stroke of deep red. Giving careful attention always made me feel at ease, especially when I was surrounded by beauty and nature. Now I am here, I remembered.
I liked when you watched me do something, especially if I knew how to do it well. Your arms and hair enrobed me as I poured hue and libations into the pearly canvas, raising bright, multi-colored feathers from the omnificent surface. Sometimes it felt like you were breathing through me, showing me through my own eyes. You make colors brighter, my body effortless, and my mind clear.
As I eased out of focus, I reflected on each stroke, the series of mind bringing this vibrant, tropical life to the canvas. I tilted the landscape along each axis in the soft, warm light, remarking on how each stroke built up plateaus and cascades of vivid pigment. I hoped you thought it was beautiful, and you did.
My technique and countenance varied considerably, and I assumed you had noticed. I would look at my work over and over, prodding over details that I liked, things in paintings and writing that made me feel fulfilled and gratified, and fixating on decisions and mistakes that I believed distracted from the theme of the work. Adrift in a parallax of thought, I wonder who I am tomorrow.
You always assured me "making beautiful things is about how you feel", and I knew this to be true. When we were alone, you spoke so calmly and reassuringly. I would reflect on your wisdom throughout the day, admiring your eloquence and sensitivity. Your warmth and grace made me strong, in each moment, and it made me want to do everything to love you and show you how grateful I am.
You were sitting by the window, gently stroking Dillon's furry, heavy ears, when I asked, "Do you ever wonder what animals are thinking?" "Yes, I always wonder what everyone is thinking." I laughed, "Sometimes I wonder if they can tell what I am thinking." You took a moment to reflect, and remarked confidently "Dogs are very intuitive. They can sense your mood, and they know when you're comfortable." This made me self-conscious, and I quipped without hesitation "Dogs pay close attention."
At home, you seemed content, almost always at ease. The wispy morning light traced in through the angular windows, warmly glowing on your porcelain skin. Your legs crossed flowingly, as you paged through an emerald-green book with an intricate, copper-stamped cover, the indulgent little pup dreaming away into your soft hands and warmth. The weightlessness of your full, rosy lips drew me entirely, while I could feel your heart beat from across the room.