How am I going to write this? I pray that my darling Annie will never read it. But I have to say it. If I put it down on paper, it may not be so dangerous. If I don't say it, I feel the strength of my own feelings may cause me to explode. A strange thing happened last night. I had nearly finished another portrait of Abrielle; a close-up of her face taking up almost the entire canvas. I was painting the half-open mouth when suddenly I found that the brush had fallen out of my hand and my own lips were touching Abrielle's. I was kissing her image. This was bad enough. Worse, oh, so much worse, was what I was experiencing as my mouth came into contact with cold paint. I was as stirred by this lifeless kiss as I had been the first time I had kiss the real Abrielle, all these years ago in the Art Room. I tore myself away from the painting, and went to lie on the studio sofa, feeling sick, and hot, as though some dreadful fever had seized hold of me. I feel somewhat calmer now, writing this away from the studio, where she can't see me, but now that I am calmer, I can face the truth. She has enchanted me all over again. I want her. I so wish we could be together once again. I think she has driven me mad. Yesterday I found myself looking at her outstretched hands in the portrait I like the best of all. The perspective has worked, I thought. She really does look as though she is about to walk out of the frame. I put my hands out and touched her painted ones. This must be what an electric shock feels like, I thought. I must stop. I must stop this madness now before it's too late. Oh, Abrielle, I am longing, hurting, burning for you! I love you, Abrielle. I cannot bear it.
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)
