It's been a difficult day.
... She left us early this morning and we're both feeling her absence quite sharply.
But that's how it is;
That's the way of it.
And when you're parted from someone you love, you grieve them.
Even if you know you'll find your way back to one another again,
Even if you know it's the best thing to do given the situation;
It's still its own unique form of grief.
...
... It's just after sunset now. The rest of our day was palpably muted, shades of subdued. He slipped away practically the instant she disapparated; spent the latter part of his morning curled up at the bay window of the smaller library, feet tucked under him, forehead pressed against the glass. There he took quiet comfort in his isolation, in the pages of a book and a tall glass of iced pumpkin juice.
And me? I lost myself in painting; gave myself over fully to the art of creation.
When it comes to painting, I don't fuss about quality; I don't care about mastery.
Those aren't my concern.
I paint to tickle my mind, to occupy my hands;
I'm in it to free my soul.
It's about immersing myself in awe of simple things, things I might otherwise take for granted;
Things such as the beauty of a colour, the elegance of broad brush strokes
It's about quiet freedom and simple toils
... It's about process, not product.
And sure enough, I produced; I created. And I wore the evidence of my labour all across my skin: the fingerprints of my right hand stained hunter green; bright yellow speckles dotting my wrist; the most stubborn splotches of royal blue up and down the length of both my arms, on my rolled up sleeves.
He walked past at one point in the early afternoon, craning his neck in and smiling at the sight of me so absorbed, "... Dreamscapes?"
That's what we call them, he and I;
Dreamscapes.
We both make them; it's fast become our new hobby this summer.
Holding up one hand for him to wait and watch me, I walk to a newly completed canvas. Then, lifting my wand up, I cast a silent spell that causes the blue brushstrokes to swirl and sparkle.
"Lovely, R."
"You like?"
"No, I love."
"Want to join?"
"Actually ... I think I'm going out for a bit."
"Oh?"
"To walk the grounds, to get some fresh air and sunlight. To consider the roses."
"I think that's a very good idea. Enjoy."
I don't ask if he wants me to join because I already know the answer;
It's not personal, of course.
... I give him space because it's obvious to me that's what he needs.
"Going to continue painting?"
"Until my fingers cry out and beg for me to stop."
"Very good."
YOU ARE READING
Coiled (Book 1 of 2)
Fanfiction"This is our story: Reggie, Evan, and I." A Marauders Era story that follows the reader (FMC), Regulus Black & Evan Rosier through their last year at Hogwarts into the First Wizarding War. This is book 1 of 2, and contains the first two parts of th...
