Their Souls Entwined

Painted Dreams

She stood still, taking in her surroundings, she had been in the exhibit hall many times, often to admire other artists but tonight was different. Tonight, she was the artist. Her work was abstract, or so that's what she told people. To others, her paintings were just splashes of colour on a canvas, but to Clary, each painting captured something more, something meaningful in a way she could not describe.

Clary thought back to when she had first been sketching these in her studio. With every line, Clary felt as if she was reaching out toward something that was just outside of her grasp. The inspiration behind these paintings came in her dreams, however, like the paintings themselves, her dreams appeared as if someone had placed a translucent curtain over her eyes. There were never any specific details which stood out, only blurred pictures merging and shifting from one to another, which made Clary often feel confused. What were these dreams she was having?

Each one seemed to diffuse certain emotions for Clary. One of her pieces on display resembled autumn leaves and flowers falling in an arc and to Clary, it radiated with happiness and joy. But it was the other painting, one of the different shades of blue and grey and white, which Clary thought seemed to emanate with one emotion in particular.

This painting was simpler than the other, but with every stroke of the brush and in every dream the emotion seemed to take over her entire body. This painting held a special place in Clary's heart, and that was because the dream which inspired this particular piece was the only dream in which she saw him. Although she could never see him clearly, he seemed to give her a sense of comfort and belonging. The dream would only last a few brief moments and usually, Clary would just be looking at this man and behind him a beautiful mix of blues and greens and lights, but there had been a couple of instances where, in her dream, this man was no longer just standing in front of her, but had his arms around her and he was kissing her. Though his face was a blur, Clary could never forget the feeling of his lips against hers, the heat that came off his body as she pressed hers against his, the wanting and needing to grab him and pull him close as if the air in his lungs was the only air she could breathe. In the morning Clary would awake and a word would linger at the tip of her tongue but it never quite seemed to escape her lips, she would also find herself reaching out to the space next to her hoping this figure would appear beside her, but he never did.

"I love this"

Clary was suddenly back in the exhibit hall. A woman was standing opposite her blue painting. Clary took a deep breath and approached. The woman upon noticing her asked, "Are all of your works abstract?". Clary smiled and gave her response "Most of 'em. It's like I have these feelings and stories inside that are trying to surface but I can't quite make them out. So, the closest thing I can do is paint the feelings." She smiled again. She knew what she had said was true but it felt so much deeper than that. "Well whatever you're doing, keep doing it," said the woman and she smiled. Clary said thank you as the woman walked away, toward a sculpture of a hand where the thumb had been replaced with the head of a bird.

She was once again alone, looking at the other artists and their incredible creations. Her eyes drifted around the room before fixing on one individual. It felt as though she could have picked him out of a sea of people, even though she had never seen him before, there was something about him that gave off a sense of familiarity. His golden blonde hair was pushed back effortlessly, perfect, and her fingers twitched at the idea of her hands running through it. His lips were rosy petals and it made Clary's lips tingle as she if they missed the feeling of them against her own. But his eyes were the most striking feature to Clary, sea blue with a speck of hazel, these were no ordinary pair of eyes. An image rose in Clary's mind, she was once more standing in that place of blue and green and white but the picture was clear now as if someone had focused the camera she was looking through, and Clary could see the man standing before her. The image only appeared for a few seconds but it was enough. Enough for Clary to know that the man whom she had dreamt about for the better part of a year, the man who she had found herself reaching for in the mornings, was the same man she was looking at right now. The same man who was looking directly back at her.