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𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: bound - wet and blood orange
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As another day unfolded, Marianna James found herself immersed in conversation about her beloved paintings. With a passion that burned bright as the sun, she spoke of each masterpiece as if it held a piece of her soul.
"Oh, Louis, let me tell you about 'Murmurs of the Gale'," she began, her voice a melodic cadence that danced upon the air. "It's a canvas alive with the whispers of nature, where the breeze sings secrets to the trees, and the leaves rustle melodies of forgotten dreams."
Louis sat in silence; his eyes fixed upon her with an intensity that spoke volumes. He was lost in the rhythm of her words, captivated by the beauty of her soul laid bare before him.
"And then there's 'Ricochets of the Soul'," Marianna continued, her voice soft yet resonant. "It's a symphony of emotion, where the echoes of love and loss intertwine in a dance of bittersweet harmony."
As she spoke, her words painted vivid images in Louis' mind, each brushstroke a stroke of genius, each color a reflection of her innermost thoughts and feelings.
"Oh, there's the 'Quietness' Clinch', that one is a crowd favourite," Marianna gushed as she explained, her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "It's a picture of seclusion, there's a lonely figure, shrouded in shadows yet bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, finding solace in the encirclement of solitude."
As Marianna's words trailed off, a hint of uncertainty crept into her voice. She glanced at Louis, his gaze fixed upon her with a depth that sent a shiver down her spine.
"Sorry, am I talking too much?" she asked, her voice tinged with self-doubt.
Louis shook his head, his eyes soft with warmth as he reached out to gently caress her hand. "No, Mar, you could never talk too much for me."
Marianna's heart fluttered at his words, a rush of relief washing over her. She had feared that her incessant chatter might have driven him away, but his reassurance filled her with a sense of belonging she hadn't felt in a long time.
"Thank you, Lou," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes, I just get lost in my own thoughts and waffling."
"Your words, they're like the epitome of perfection, brimming with wisdom and adorned with exquisite beauty," Louis murmured, his admiration evident in the softness of his gaze. "I could lose myself in your voice for hours."
