Burning Out

Chapter 22

AZURE

'It's the softest strokes of blue and violet with a tinge of gold.
The slightest of silver hidden underneath all that and at the edges.'

'Oh I want to paint it like you, please'

***

Splayed across the sheets in the middle of the bedroom. Canvases scattered all around. The paint splashed across it being the only colour in the otherwise dull and bleak room.

He sat at the edge of the bed, admiring the beautiful art. It made his heart race and flutter in the way nothing else ever did. As he stared and admired the art splayed across the king sized bed. His eyes were closed. Soft eyelashes fanning equally soft and beautiful skin. They put Aphrodite to shame. Skin as soft as caramel and glittering under the touch of stars and gold. Worth thousands of acres of gold and still wouldn't be enough.

He pulled his eyes away from the mesmerising figure upon his unruly, messy sheets to an equally alluring yet chaotic and disruptive piece of canvas lying a few feet away.

He slowly got up from the bed, sure not to make too much noise and walked across the room to the object which drew his attention and demanded to keep it. He kneeled to the ground, at the edge of the object, and carefully picked it up, wondering if the paper would tear away with how delicate it looked. But the painting itself was no where near delicate. It was strong, bold. Yet confusing. Painting a thousand words and a thousands emotions with a few gentle strokes.

One can interpret whatever they like from a painting. It can mean something different, something new, something old to one and something they'd rather not remember or cannot forget to someone else. It's the way of looking at the picture. It can make you feel more lonely than ever or it can make you feel like you're never alone in this universe.

It can mean loving your own self and tearing apart your demons. Or it can be tearing yourself apart because you fell for your demons.

It can be a stroll in the middle of nowhere yet feeling like you're right where you're supposed to be. It could be yearning for something you can't have or haven't found yet. Or knowing that you don't have the right to ever want it but you still do.

It could mean a million different things. Yet it doesn't change their beauty and doesn't change that it encaptures and traps whoever it is who looks at it, into its abyss.

'It's the most dangerous trap of them all. Knowing that it's a trap to begin with but still wanting to get caught up in it'

It can be disguised as the worst of love and the best of misery.

He smiles softly, albeit a bit ruefully, at the painting. It's the softest strokes of blue and violet with a tinge of gold. The slightest of silver hidden underneath all that and at the edges.

It's a beautiful painting.
It's mesmerising.
It's miserable.
It's love.

He slowly comes back from his trail of thoughts when he hears the shuffling of the blankets and sheets and the sound of the bed creaking a bit.

He puts down the canvas from where he picked up and looked back towards the source of the sound.

His lips raise up slightly at the image in front of him. Amusement shining in his eyes as he took in the sight of a tangled and undeniably pretty mess in front of him.