Richard Grieco Imagines

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You would lean against the door frame (or the wall) and watch him paint, only to be fascinated all over again by the play of muscles under his t-shirt while he's throwing color onto the white canvas.

You'd stand there all the time and would move from your spot only to go to the bathroom, get some rest or to bring him something to eat. You wouldn't pamper him or make him eat when he didn't want to, no; you know how much he hates being pampered so you'd simply leave the tray with the food somewhere he could see it and could take a bite when he wanted to. You know he could work non-stop, sometimes for two or three days without taking a break to rest and get some sleep.

Most of the times you'd witness him collapsing from exhaustion and would rush to catch him. You'd sit down leaned against the hard wall, holding him in your arms; you'd brush the heavy dark locks falling over his eyes and wouldgently caress his face. You'd fall asleep making yourself his pillow and he'd wake up feeling comfortable warmth around himself. He'd open his eyes and see your head leaned sideways, your eyelids closed and your chest soothingly rising and falling with every breath you take in your sleep. He'd sit up and looking at your face guilt would hit him hard again; whenever he'd work in the studio and collapse you'd be there to let him use you as a pillow and wouldn't let him feel the pain from sleeping on the hard floor; you'd take it all for yourself.

He couldn't count how many times it had happened already and often wondered what he did to deserve someone as amazing as you; you never complained about anything, never pampered him, never asked questions; you just were there everytime when he needed you, showering him with your unconditional love. For him you were an angel who was giving him its wings whenever he needed to fly and he felt so blessed to have you in his life.

You'd stir in your sleep, breaking himout of his thoughts and he'd lift his hand to gently touch your face with his long fingers before leaning and softly kissing your rosy lips. You'd move your head in your sleep leaning it in his direction and it would fall on his shoulder. He'd smile, lifting you in his strong arms and would carry you in your bedroom. He'd put you on the bed and would cover you with the blanket. Then he'd lie down, pulling you close to him and would watch you sleep.

He'd look at your white skin all over again and would study your beautiful face. Your red lips would make him imagine the carmine splashing against the white color of the canvas mixed with the black color of your thick eyelashes and the brown color of your hair. He'd be inspired by you all over again for a brand new painting but all of a sudden the exhaustion from the last couple of days would hit him with a new force. He'd let his head fall down next to yours and the second it hits the pillow he'd fall into a deep sleep with you in his arms, holding you tight.

He loves you and you love him. Nothing else matters.