i stayed there with him, he had guided me through almost all of his paintings.
he had ordered calamari and rice for us both.
moose of course ate the scraps and his own puppy chow.
my mom had called me, asking me if i can pop in and buy her some milk and cheese, and i told modere that i was leaving to go home.
"i'll save you some calamari." he smiles, leaning on his apartment door.
"thank you, i enjoyed everything." i held my coat in my hands, standing out in the apartment hallway.
"maybe next time i can make you a painting and show it to you," he suggests, tugging on his shirt. "that's if you want,"
"i would enjoy that,"
moose brushes by modere's leg. i pet him goodbye.
walking home after stopping by the store, i felt a weird sensation.
ever since i left modere's apartment, my fingers had been tingling.
going to bed that night, i dreamt of a beautiful place, where the sunset laid, the picture slowly coming together in strokes.
i had imagined modere as the creator of that place, his eyes were the stars in the setting sky, his fingertips were the paintbrushes.
he painted a picture of me in my dreams that night.
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. "
