modere invited me to his place and i walked into the most amazing apartment.
it was tidy, but had paint splatters everywhere, artistic in its own way.
canvases were in each corner, paintbrushes were in small cups on the window sills. the hard wood flooring was barely brown, most of it had been covered with a multitude of colors.
he had a small kitchen, and his dining table was cut down of it legs, so it sat on the floor. he had cushions placed around the table.
he had a large radio, and surprisingly a t.v.
"why do you have a t.v?" i ask insensitively. i immediately regret, "sorry for asking that."
he continues on ignoring my quick apology. "i listen to the action on t.v. i hear the words that people say."
i helped him look for that painting in his apartment. he helped me by feeling the braille, telling me what each canvas held.
near the end, we found a painting, "this is it!" he smiles widely. he moves to put it on an easel.
"do you want to see what i see?" he asks me, moose yaps from in front of the television.
"sure,"
he grabs my hand and guides my fingers across the canvas. slowly, going over each bump and peak, he told me the color names.
it was then that i knew exactly what a sunset on a rainy day looked like.
YOU ARE READING
broken eyes
Short Story"his eyes were a light shade of blue, almost grey, like his eyes were what sadness feels like. "
