What happens when an invisible girl falls in love with one of the most wanted boys in all Paris?
Paris, 2019
Eloise, 18 years old, labeled by her entire school as a sad, weird and clumsy girl, who barely speaks and has no friends. Forced by her par...
Once my mother told me that life is not as bad as it seems: just look at the tiny and cute details and you'll realize its greatness. Since that, I've always searched it in paintings: even when they are not beautiful and all you can see is just a nonsense chaos, I look for the little things that may change my entire prospective about everything. It usually works, but today I'm just so lost in myself. I should be happy, but I'm not and I hate it. I hate that my stupid mind always ruins it for me.
Some days it goes like this: I can't find the little details.
''So, which one of you knows, without reading please, who is the author of this painting?''
The Louvre Museum is great, huge and perfect, other synonyms would be an insult. I feel like this whole place sees me as one of them: certaintly not because I'm something to admire, but for the emotions that I can reach even with closed eyes. The white statues look like they are in pain even when they smile and the oils seem almost to reflect my mind. The Botticelli that mr Cooper just pointed at gives me the chills, and partially because noone here seems to know his name.
"Nobody? Really? And you, back there? I'm sorry, I alway forget your name... miss ...?"
At least Botticelli is not alone.
"Holland, sir, and the painter is called Botticelli... " I say, but it's more like a whisper.
"What? " asks the teacher and Emily Blake, a brown barbie that probably hates even herself, answers for me with mischievous eyes.
"I think she said Van Gogh."
Of course everybody laughs: well, I'm glad they know who Van Gogh is.
I guess the main reason why I'm not enjoying the visit is the people I'm surrounded with. Most of the time they don't consider me, and that's fine, but when they do I immediately turn into the weirdo that should probably have stayed in America. The girls I share a hotel room with have basically been forced by the principal to accept me as their 'roomie'. In three days they locked me out only once. That's a nice gesture from them.
Usually I can handle the loneliness and the bullying, I did it for like my entire life, however now it's harder and I don't even know why: maybe it's because I am far from home and nobody here cares about me. But it's not that different, so I convince myself to stop thinking just like my parents did to make me do this trip and I keep walking behind everyone. A little ghost with a little heart, I guess...
All of the sudden, something captures my attention.
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It's been observed by nobody and a mysterious shadow almost covers it, but fortunately it resists. I come closer and stop almost when my nose reaches the oil; the cold colors smell like the night. It's a weird painting, something I didn't know I could find at the Louvre. The darkness of the black shades make you feel inside the picture and it's frighting and peacefull at the same time. The eyes of the naked woman, surrounded by beautiful flowers, are beyond humanity; they show the world in one scary and fast look, the impression of everything I see for the first time.
