Rose Tattoos | H.S (discontinued)

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

I entered the museum, panting with sweat beads on my forehead because of the many steps I took to get up here. Curse those marble stairs; it gave the building a fancy look, but it gave me a workout that I didn't ask for.

The stairs were nice though, but the many types of painting that hung on the wall or stood on the floor looked nicer.

Amazing! I wonder how these artist felt knowing their creations are pure and untouchable yet able to be set out for the community to admire their countless hours of beautiful creations.

One painting, specifically a palette knife painting, caught my eye in particular. This one had a woman's face above the water of what seems to be an ocean with sunflowers surrounding her.

"Absolutely marvelous, isn't it?" A familiar voice whispered behind me.

I turned to be greeted with a grinning Harry, I could tell he wasn't smiling at me though since his eyes are fixated above me where the painting is held.

"It is," I murmured. This unknown-painting-title is probably my most favorite piece in here. The others weren't terrible, there's just something about this piece that makes me want to stand here for years and never take my eyes off of it.

Harry now stood beside me to get a closer look at the painting. I couldn't tell who looked prettier: the painting or Harry.

Definitely Harry.

"Look at these sunflowers!" Harry exclaimed, a little too loud making everyone turn their heads at the person admiring the art a little too obsessively. "It's like the artist hand-picked the sunflowers himself and slapped that baby on the canvas.

It was my turn to be stared at because of the loud snort that escaped my nostrils.

"You're something else, Harry," I giggled. Taking a seat on an open bench. Maybe wearing heels and walking up a flight of stairs isn't the best combination or idea.

"It's the raw beauty of being unique, Bella," he smiled, allowing himself to take a seat beside me.

We sat in silence for a moment, watching individuals take pictures, even though they aren't allowed to while they stare at the large amount of paintings and statues crowding the building.

"So," I turned to Harry whose head is tilting to the left with crossed legs. "What brings you here today?"

A small smile forms across his face before he turned to me.

"I heard about this museums grand opening today and I thought, why not admire others artwork. I may not be artistically inclined myself, but I wanted to indulge in what others favor in." he shrugged. "How about you, why are you here?"

"You don't think you're artistically inclined?" I completely dodged his question but his statement intrigued me.

Harry shook his head no.

"Why not?" I pushed further.

He dropped his head slightly, which made some strands of his hair fall on his forehead.

"When I think artistically inclined, I think of you. You and every artists creation that gets to expose their work to the community and be recognized by it."

I gathered some words before I say what I want to say, otherwise it'll come out wrong.

This man is "artistically inclined." For the past month I've known him, even with such little to no information, I know the music he makes is true art. He doesn't have to be a painter, graphic designer, or animator to say, "I make art."

"Harry, you are an artist, being a singer makes you one. You just happen to create art in a different way."