Something Unheard

him - real

I stare at the painting

for a while longer,

adding touches of detail

here and there

until it seemsto come alive.

I can practically

see your eyes

blink, staring at me -no through me!

- from the roughpaint-

textured canvas.

I set my brush

down, and notice

the stains onmy sleeves.

I gander at my clothes

and shake my head

at my own foolishness

as coloured dots

and smudges

have now patterned my once

clean shirt

and bare skin.

I rub my handson my jeans

and turn around.

Your face is there,

in front of me.

My eyes widen,

I glance back at

the canvas.

The image remains

stagnant, and my eyes

slide back to you.

You're here.

You're real.

My heart beats wildly

in my chest,

both in fear and utter surprise.

"No money!" I shout, raising my hands

as though this were

a burglary.

You'd locked

the door.