Maeve Carson, a seventeen year old highschool student, finds solace in art and photography, using it as a coping mechanism for her difficult home life. It offered her a potential escape from her circumstances.
- The Artist's Obsession -
Kayden Pier...
I stood before my latest canvas, a blank slate beckoning my brush strokes, I felt her presence beside me, my love, my inspiration.
Aria's raven hair, cut short and stylish, frames her face like a work of art. Her piercing blue eyes sparkle like sapphires in the sunlight, drawing me in with every glance. Those lips - a soft pink hue that beckons me to taste their sweetness.
I'm captivated by the gentle curve of her neck, the subtle slope of her shoulders, and the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs. Aria's beauty is a masterpiece, a symphony of curves and colors that leaves me breathless and wanting to express it all on a canvas.
"What's inspiring you today, Ari? What do you see in this blank canvas?", I looked at her for her response.
Aria thought deeply before she smiled eyeing the blank canvas beside me, "I see a world of possibilities, Kayden", she finally said, "A stormy sea, a fiery sky, a dance of light and shadow. What do you see?"
"I see a reflection of our emotions, our thoughts, our dreams. A symphony of colors, a harmony of contrasts. What do you think of that?"
"I think the poetic-like talk is making me a little hungry. Maybe food now?", she interrupted our art talk, making me laugh.
"Alright, let's get food", I gave in to her, making her jump in excitement.
We drove to her favourite fast food place, for the fourth time this week. We got her burger and a table. I sat down with her and watched her savor the juicy burger, her joy was infectious.
Aria's personality - a mix of sass and sweetness- never failed to draw me in. She was lovable, had a positive personality was the secret ingredient that made my life better, a recipe for happiness I wanted to share forever.
My muse.
Aria was the sunrise that broke through the clouds of my life, illuminating even the darkest days with her radiant presence.
Over the past four years, her support and love was a warm embrace that enveloped me. Even before my brush strokes danced with fame, Aria was the melody that harmonized my chaos, the rhythm that made my heart sing.
My muse.
On days when colors seemed dull and inspiration was scarce, she was that spark that reignited my passion, the gentle breeze that carried me forward. With Aria here with me, my canvas was filled with vibrant hues, my life was a masterpiece of joy, love, and beauty.
She was my muse.
The girl I still wait for to return ever since that day.
The day she whispered a soft good bye, her lips brushing against my cheek. The day she turned away, her slender figure gliding across the room, like a ghost slipping through the shadows. I remember her quick yet hesitant pace, as if she was fleeing her thoughts, but couldn't escape their grasp.
The day the click of the door closing behind her was like the snapping of a thread, a delicate connection severed.
The day my gaze lingered on the empty space she left behind, a persistent reminder of her absence.
I noticed her usual sparkle gone. Her eyes, once always bright and full of life, now seemed to hold a thousand concerns, like a stormy sea churning with secrets.
I should have asked her. Stopped her from exiting the door.
It's too late.
I escaped my dark thoughts as I opened the doors to my art room for the first time in eight months.
Our art room, once a vibrant and bustling space because of her, now felt empty and still. The canvases that lined the walls, once full of life and color, now seemed dull and muted. The brushes that had once danced across the canvas with precision and purpose, now lay idle and unused. The easel, once a proud stage for my creations, stood bare and silent.
I walked through the room, my eyes lingering on each piece, remembering the moment Aria had inspired each and every one of them. I saw the laughter we had shared, the whispers we had exchanged, but without her, the colors seemed faded, the strokes uncertain, and the beauty, lost.
The room was a reminder of what I had lost. It stood like a shrine to our love and creativity. My heart ached as I realized that my art - like my life - was incomplete without Aria. My Aria. I longed to pick up my brush again, to feel the rush of inspiration and creativity, but without her, it seemed impossible. It was impossible.
Our lives together were perfect. A match made for each other. It still leaves me questioning today.
Why would the thought of suicide even cross her mind?
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