Ignited [z.m]

•1•

|Zayn |

I always craved for the feeling of having my attention stolen by a girl, or in this situation, my heart. But I suppose life isn't exactly very successful at granting everyone their wishes.

I remember walking out of Mr. Gavois' infamous café, Lumiére, after a lengthy and very stressful day at the carnival.

Mr. Gavois was a warm man with a heart of gold. He was selfless, always ensuring the well-being of others before his own, and strived to make those around him happy. He did this in many ways, all of which never fail to brighten up one's day.

He moved here from France at the age 24, his soft hair and loving eyes making every girl weak at the knees. But he only had eyes for one, and she later on became his wife. Together, they opened up a small café at the upper west side of Bradford.

The café was themed around roughly textured bricks, and was surrounded by many trees. They worked together for many years until his wife became weak and fragile, and it was clearer to him that he would have to run it on his own.

"You are my light." He would always say.

She had a huge impact on his life, and so when she passed away, he changed the name of the café to Lumiére, which meant light in French.

At the age of 50, he and my father became good friends, and we would always go to his small café for a drink.

When I was about 10, my visits to the café became more frequent, and I found that my father trusted me to go here alone by myself- which then became a habit. I later on realized that this was a hard period of time for my parents; they were filing a divorce. My mother's alcoholic ways were too disastrous for my father, and he wanted me to grow up in a friendlier environment.

My passion for art had subconsciously lead me to opening a cornered stand for all things art at the carnival; the delicate strokes of the brush would express thoughts I couldn't begin to express using words. It was my way of talking, communicating with the world. Although most wouldn't be able to fathom my abstract manner of art, it gave it all the more value through my eyes.

Luck had struck me on a random day when a fairly young lad had walked by with curly hair pressed against his forehead, and he very timidly asked if he could work in my compact stand.

Ever since, I had grown very fond of Harry and his cheeky smile. The amount of portraits or simply anything that involves a blank canvas gradually being filled is amazingly draining, but in a way relieving.

At the end of the day I walk out with nothing but stained clothing and a strained face, whilst a spiral of intimate thoughts came to be in an everlasting motion from within me. I wholeheartedly hope that the rest of my forever isn't spent between four small walls my paintings have created impatiently waiting for my presence.