My sweetest, loveliest, kindest, and most handsomest boy.
We strolled through the exhibition side by side, looking at Beatrix's drafts, letters, and possessions displayed in glass cases, often imposing upon one another's space to bend over and take a closer peek. Staring at an illustration of a cat wearing a blue button-down coat, our ears came so close and I looked up at you, brushing my shoulder against yours. When you're thinking about something peacefully, your expression is always that same stillness, bearing no lines or contortions. But something in the air between us in our close proximity drew your eyes to me and I smiled. You smiled too, with only one corner of your mouth lifting. At the end of our tour, we participated in the creative exercise the Frist Museum provided. You sat comfortably at one easel, your long legs creating perfect 90-degree angles at either side of the wood. I took to one of the miniatures with a pencil and paper. I tried really hard to capture perfectly the tiny furniture in the box but I know I'm not an artist. So, glancing at you working so diligently at the still life before you, I was refreshed, knowing I'm not an artist.
I glanced at you periodically several more times as I drew lines and erased them until I eventually finished my silly doodle. You were still working! I returned to your side to take a peek at your progress and immediately pursed my smiling lips to restrain a satisfied gasp. I've seen your work before and marveled at it, but I never got to see how your hands move with calculated colors. I never got to see you provided with an easel or a basket of fruit before. Studying your finished pieces led me to daydream about how your posture, face, and movements would appear while focused. So, as I tried to compose myself and sat next to you, I feasted my eyes upon what I saw. With your back bent over your work, you loosely held a cluster of colored pencils while your other hand went to work on the paper. The way you held your pencil against that paper... Your long pretty fingers rizzed the hell out of those pieces of wood. Then your face, so full of focus and determination to capture what you could. I've said it before and I'll say it again: your side profile somehow speaks literal Greek to me whenever I look at it. Unfortunately, because I was viewing you from the side I was unable to see the little crease that appears between your brows whenever you're lost in deep thought. Since I'm wearing your ring, however, I'm sure I'll get to see it all the time very soon.
In short, it's taken me two full years by your side, to finally get the opportunity to see you sit at an easel. I am pleased and I'll never complain again!
