Art.

uno

All I ever wanted was a pretty boy with immense indigo eyes.

And there he was, facing me on my train home from my late shift at tea shops downtown. I observed how the small crinkles appeared under his eyes when he smiled at his phone and how he kept playing with his thumbs. I watched as he drummed rhythms softly onto the lid coffee cup resting on the plastic table separating us both.

I had always been one for details. Even with my art I'm very detailed, every dot is there for a reason. I seem to remember such characteristics with certain people, sometimes even more than their name. I remembered how my best friend Kala held her cigarette with her thumb on the nib and how my mother would always place her fork on the right side instead of the left when she was eating at the table. Details were my kind of thing, and his details were faultless.

From the way he was sitting, and how his hair looked after it had been rained on. How his wet bangs fell in front of his left eye, and how his scribbled handwriting on the notebook resting on his thigh danced with the rapid bounce of his right leg. He was so utterly infatuating and he was so very oblivious to his own creation.

After a while, he inevitably caught me staring at his alluring facial structure. As much as I tried to look away to hide my crimson cheeks, he gave a reassuring smile. He finally told me his named was Leonardo, but how his friends called him Leo. He also told me how his favourite colour was green, and how he didn't like chocolate cake very much. He asked me what my favourite colour was, and I told him truthfully indigo blue, but somehow, throughout my brain, the devil and God were raging inside of me, because not only did Lucas' eyes shine indigo confidently in the dusk light of the evening sky, they also dotted from every colour of the ocean to the sickly blue of the forget-me-nots scattering the fields surrounding the train carriage.

Leo said he had a very busy schedule, but one day soon he'll make time to drink coffee with me. I told him he didn't have to go to so much effort but he insisted. He said that pretty girls were created to be cherished, and were very rare to find. I was desperate to tell him how completely beautiful he was too, but the butterflies in my stomach somehow prevented me from doing so.

Because something told me that he already knew.