but the wait will be worth it

chapter fourteen

Art.

Art sure can capture someone's beauty, no matter how you depict it.

If you're creating a painting, writing a song, writing a poem... you can definitely learn a lot about someone based off of the art they create.

The thing with art, is that each piece holds so many emotions.

It's true; you can create a painting of someone, and see love, from just looking at it. It's like a song: if you have one specific song that makes you super nostalgic for a certain time, just listening to it brings back all of those feelings and emotions you had when you first heard it.

It's the same with a painting. You will actually feel, all that you felt while painting it.

The love. The happiness. The butterflies in your stomach as he sat softly at the table, while you painted his smile against the canvas.

In a way, art can bring you back in time to a certain happiness that you had forgotten.

About one year ago
April 25th 2011

His soft lips intertwined with mine, laying on the hard porch couch of our flat. I was laying on top of his chest, leg sliding slowly up and down his waist.

"Stop, Haz, wait—"

I continued to kiss him, head getting dizzy from my breath continuously belonging to him for the last ten minutes. While I had moved a gentle hand up his temple and into his fluffy hair, he lightly leaned back and away from my body, placing his elbows down to sit up and face me.

He softly leant away from the kiss, before quickly placing a another small one onto my lips. Then, he got up and left into the house through the back porch door.

"Lou," I stumbled over my words while mentally releasing myself from the kiss, "where.... Lou where are you off to?"

He turned back into the door, poking his head out. "Making some tea, love," he said sweetly with a smile.

I bit my lip and watched as he disappeared into the apartment. Whilst pulling the towel that was around me up around my waist, I got up. Silently and sneakily, I slid into the house.

Louis and I had slept on the back porch couch last night. We do this often. During the warm nights the moon can be so beautiful. The wonderful hillside grass would sway from side to side, almost as if the world was whispering as we drifted off to sleep.

While giggling with the light blue towel beginning to slip off of my waist, I tiptoed past Louis in the kitchen. Then I ran into our room, grabbing a canvas, some paint, and paint brushes from the closet.

"Harry, where are you?" I could hear Louis looking for me out on the back porch as I scurried back out to where he was. Louis sat at the glass outdoor table, with two cups of tea.

"Louis," I cooed showing him my art supplies, "look what I've got."

I loved to paint. Not many people knew this about me, not even my mum. To be honest, I didn't even realize my love for painting until I met Louis. For our anniversary last year, he had bought me a canvas and some art supplies. That summer, I had painted a picture of him every single day into my notebook. The notebook still, even now, remained on my bedside table, as I would flip through it every now and then.

I'm not quite sure what had happened; why I had stopped painting. I guess life had just gotten in the way. That and One Direction, practice had just gotten set for every single day for the next few months and so on.