10th February 1993
I haven't written in this notebook for some weeks. I think I may be cured. I have much to be grateful to Dr Armstrong for. The dreams have almost completely left me. Just before Christmas, I started work on a series of paintings I call 'Portraits of Abrielle'. Annie (who knows everything) tried to pretend she didn't mind that I was spending every moment when I was not at school 'locked up in the studio with another woman', as she put it. All through the Christmas holidays I slaved over my canvases. There are enough for an exhibition, but I am reluctant to let anyone see them. Abrielle's yellow eyes follow me wherever I go. There's one portrait in particular I'm pleased with, where she seems almost to be walking out of the frame and into the room. She has her hands held out in front of her like a sleepwalker. Sometimes, I find myself wanting to touch her, and I put my hands out so that they almost reach the hands in the painting.
YOU ARE READING
Abrielle
RomanceA mysterious story about a man still had these nightmares about a girl, he fell for in his teen's year. (Please do comment, i need to improve my writing as this book is my first time)
