"Do you miss it?" She whispered into my ear.
I smiled slightly. "Yes," I whispered back, though I was somewhat unsure of my answer.
"Why did you give it up?" She asked as we stared at the painting together.
"I didn't have the creativity."
"But you loved it."
"I did," I said as my fingers began moving on their own accord, winding into hers.
"I think you were rather good."
"I was good," I said, confident in my response.
She looked at me surprised, it was odd for me to admit I was good at something.
"I never knew what to create though," I said simply.
We stared at the painting a bit longer.
"And when I did think of something to make, it didn't turn out the way I wanted it to."
"That's a stupid reason for giving up." She said.
I laughed, for she had given up on things for sillier reasons. She pulled at my hand, moving us along to the next painting.
"Well, I still paint once and a while." I reminded her.
"You look cute in your paint shirts. You get covered in paint."
"I was never good at staying clean." I laughed.
"It's just, you're so happy when you're creating stuff. And it calms you. I want to see you happy more often. I hate that you gave it up."
"I hate it too," I said after a pause.
"We should take an art class together."
"We could take something fun, like ceramics, or glass blowing," I suggested.
She smiled, imagine all of the things we could do.
"I would like that." She said quietly, taking my other hand into her unoccupied one.
I stared at her smile, smiling back. I felt the silent urge that I had kept hidden for so long. I longed to paint her face to draw her smile. I longed to create something, anything. I longed to make something for her, simply so that I could see her beautiful smile.
