First Light

55 silver birch tree

Tuesday 12th of April 2022 (the following week)

Faye:

They say lavender helps ease anxiety, and if that's true, then Marlo has a whole field of it planted within his very soul. I only have to be near him in order to feel its effects.

He grounds me, makes me feel calmer, and it's like all the anxiety dissipates. It can be something as simple as him taking my hand, and it's as if somehow he channels his calmness into me through the contact of our skin, or the air shared around us. The closer in proximity I am to him and the more physical contact there is, the stronger the effects.

I noticed it a little, even when we didn't know each other that well. How at-ease he made me feel. I hadn't thought about it much until the day that we first went out to the restaurant with his flatmates, the first day he held my hand. That was when I knew he was able to soothe me. It has only grown stronger with time, of course.

Today, I have dragged him to an art gallery. Not that he needed much persuasion. It's getting warmer, the weather. Today is bright and sunny, the sky mostly cloudless, and I've had to opt for one of my thinner jumpers instead. I'm dreading the summer.

I honestly don't remember the last time I had been to an art gallery, it must've been years ago. I was hoping I would get some inspiration for my own art-work, as well as being able to admire other people's, of course. Only there aren't many good pieces.

I know art is subjective, but I have a certain distaste for some forms of modern art. Some of the abstract pieces, where it'll just be a blue circle in a red square and will be selling for about £500 because some old, rich woman thinks it 'conveys a great deal of raw emotion'. When in fact, it's something a 4 year old could do.

It's upsetting, in a way, for actually talented artists who've put a lot of time and effort into their pieces to be ranked in the same level as people who take about 10 seconds to make something.

This gallery is filled with a lot of that. Marlo seems to find this funny, the lack of talent in the room. He's insisted on us playing a game.

"Stand in front of the ones that you think you could do," He had whispered to me. "But pretend you're not incredibly talented, you have to think as if you barely paint as it is."

Not that I would've stood in front of any of the good ones. I've had a lot of practise but I wouldn't be able to paint like any of them, not now at least.

The one I'm looking at right now is a portrait of a woman, sitting by a window sill. She's clothed in a long red dress, the only bright colour in this painting apart from the faint orange of the setting sun in the horizon. She looks upset, lost in thought, and I wonder what she's thinking about or if she's even thinking about anything at all. I'm as close as I can to her without breathing directly onto her, and when I move my head, the light catches every individual brush stroke.

I look around to find Marlo, suddenly aware that he is no longer next to me, and I find him standing in front of an all purple painting that has one white dot in the bottom left corner. I'm not sure if it was intentional or not.

That and the fact that I have no idea how long he's waited for me to realise he was no longer with me makes me want to laugh, and I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek not to; there aren't that many people here and it is incredibly quiet. It's as if any kind of sound is amplified. I'm convinced that everyone can hear the sound of my earrings move as I walk. I've had to speak to Marlo in hushed tones, and even then we've gotten looks of disgust from the other people here.