The truth is I followed you here from that flower shop on Whitmore Street, two and a half months ago. Please, keep reading.
You actually took my breath away when I glimpsed you holding a bunch of lilies in your slender hands at the flower shop counter. You stunned me. That's never happened to me before. I was watching you turning the bouquet left to right, you seemed in awe of the flowers' beauty. Your eyes, your perfect smile, the way you held yourself. It was not a conscious decision to follow you here. I think I was in a trance. I know how it looks; I know it sounds like a movie.
When Miss Vale said it was only the beginning of the painting course, lesson two, I signed up, paid my money on the spot, just to follow you into the room.
Just to keep seeing you. Just to be near you. I know it's crazy.
I stared at the back of your bobbed hair for that entire lesson. In my mind I was shouting for you to turn around and notice me. I didn't even paint the bowl of fruit Miss Vale asked us to paint. I told her I was getting the perspective right in my mind.
Remember the first conversation we had, the one about Monet, the water lilies? I made all that stuff up, just to sound like I knew something about famous painters. I really only knew that you loved lilies.
I arrived early the next week, just to get the easel next to yours, the old guy with the blue suede vest wasn't too happy. I get here early every week now; just to make sure he doesn't steal it back.
It's two months on and I really know you now. You're so easy to talk to, so warm and caring and kind. I love the way you grab my arm when you laugh at my jokes, or try and paint my cheek when I'm not ready to stop you. I write those little jokes throughout the week, just to tell them to you on painting nights.
Right now you're laughing at me, asking to look at what I'm painting. But I will keep this hidden until the end of the class when I'll probably just turn and run away. I'm sorry to tell you like this, a simple note written in grey pencil, on a big square of white canvas.
Tonight Miss Vale told us to paint something we loved.
I don't think I can tell you in words how much I love this. It's so honest and open, and the style is refreshingly different. I absolutely LOVE the idea of this being the letter he wrote on the canvas. The end hit me like... well, I don't know what, but I know a piece is good when it sends chills down my spine!
Regarding your questions: Oliver seems completely honest and desperately in love with Emma. It's that beautiful, pure love that everyone wants to see, and you hit the nail right on the head.
You also did an excellent job with painting a picture (no pun intended) with this piece. I could see them sitting together, her laughing, etc. I could see him following her and watching her look at the flowers.
A few grammatical/orthographic errors: 1. "in awe of the flowers beauty" --> flowers should be flowers', as it is a plural possessive. 2. "blue swede vest" --> I think you mean suede, right? Like the soft leather sort of material?
Overall, I just want to read this over and over and over again, because it is probably one of my favorite short stories now! xD
I don't usually comment but this...this was beautiful. "Please, keep reading." This line grabbed me and held on tight. I couldn't look away if I wanted to and I felt his desperation in those three words. I'm rooting for him.
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suggest an Anime and
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lyn12: - Daily
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