The Painting

Fourth September, 1997, 7 AM, Kamyl's just casually passing by the stalls at the city town nothing to seem special, that is until this day. Arms crossed oblivious of the surrounding, she forgot to tuck her jacket amidst the unforgiving cold these restless nights instilled to her, for this day she knew the very warmth she needed is somewhere close now. Fearful of the melancholy she's been feeling forever, she knew what brings her here today is rather fleeting.

Canvases, graffiti wall, pieces of hand-crafted designs and rattans, the lavish of these artworks, antique and contemporary, depreciates her loneliness. Couldn't quite contain her hands from touching them. Smiling softly while passing by them, she thought art is ephemeral, 'you won't have meaning in this world, will you?', silently she said taking a deep breath, 'perhaps, it's the world that doesn't have meaning', she added. 

The buzzing of the town seemed to have brought her back in reality and decided to continue walking. For now, she heads to the place famous for their coffee mixes and teas, quite a place for the early birds. 

She opened the door, reminiscing the old times someone would have opened it on her behalf. Nutty and herbs aroma smoked in her olfaction, and she knew she had the best sip in this already fading town. Creamed espresso, regularly, now not bad to get on the last working day of this shop... sadly. If only her transfer would be easy enough to where this shop's owner opens next, she would bring everything.  Apprehensive, she sat in the very corner of the shop viewing this pillow-size painting, the same seat, as always. If Time wasn't too cruel, she wouldn't be sitting her alone. 

She looked up just above her head, and she thought no coffee is enough to wake her lazy heart for now... rather ever since. Beautiful in sepia, portrait of a lady in coffee, as what it was made of. Quite an artist, she thought, couldn't be more proud. 

She stood, dazed as if it was her first witness of the art piece. Almost felt like a mirror. Delicate. As she is. There was a beam in her eyes despite teary and distressed. She raised her hand. Gently brushed mid-air the signature below, Dan. Somebody. Unbelieving it's been months since she watched how this very art piece was made, first hand personal... Now buried in history. 

She took a deep breath, and her tears just went down recalling how she stood there while Dan would stroke the canvas perfectly photographing her with only powder coffee and water. Every every stroke of her was impeccably brushed. Her smile says everything Dan would have wished to feel. Picture-perfect momentum. She felt designed in time, that very moment, graced with desire to live and love. Nothing was there she would have asked for more, but him beside her. But sadly just how art can be ephemeral, their love never quite last. 

Scared, tracked in the crevices of her mind... How she saw him dropped on the floor, losing his breath cause heart's too weak to beat once more... And sadly no coffee was able to wake him. Damn that illness she wished they never had. In sake of art, he never survived, cause what magnificent lasts in this world? 

In fact, these coffees never delighted her since then. Frozen at the moment she felt her heart beat too fast almost dropping to the floor as she bent pressing her heart, thinking what to wipe first with her hands: her tears flooding her face, or her blood rushing thru her heart. But neither offsets the longing inside. Regardless of what artistry this very life would teach her, that she thought is worth living for, nothing brings back the love of her life; the colors are now fading. She laid down. Freely.

Dismayed, tiring it must have been for her to remember no happy, or beauty, lasts forever. No more art would ever mitigate the chaos in her mind. 'Oh Lord, I tried painting every color, never was I an artist.', she whispered, catching her breath. As what Dan once told her: the essence of art is to fix what's broken. But she thought maybe what is broken can sometimes just remain that way... and it's beautiful. Finally the rushing in her heart stopped. She stared at the painting and lives flashed before her eyes. This time, perhaps, the best art piece is to close her eyes and never open them. Memories may have been gone but never forsaken... this time at best no more chaos inside.