Finding Love

Painting and Missing

Sammie's POV

The sun is rising form the east and I shake my van full of paint, having a vision in my head of what I want this to look like.

I've been out all night, avoiding home, avoiding life, avoiding people. In the heat of the night, nothing seems real and the problems of tomorrow seems light years away. Until the sun starts to rise and you remember that you have problems and responsibilities and issues to attend to.

Getting slammed back into reality is a feeling that you think I would be used to.

I'm not.

I don't think I ever will let myself because that takes away from the escape I get when I'm up all night and the sun doesn't look like it's coming back.

It's perfect almost.

The little pocket in time where it feels like you're invincible. and it's that feeling in time that I'm trying to capture between my spray and the concrete wall in front of me.

I used to have friends that would sit outside with me in the dark and help me paint the whole wall, telling me that they got it. They understand the feeling I was talking about. And then of course, I had to get in trouble for the one thing I didn't do and my family moved us. All the way to the other side of the city where I'm supposed to be starting a new school.

I fucking hate it.

My parents think I'm broken because I don't fit into the box of the daughter they wanted. I'm a no strings attached, tomboy lesbian that has a knack for finding herself in a bit of a mess.

But I could be selling my body, doing drugs, being a murderer, kidnapping kids.

But no I'm a bad kid because I stay up all night and like to have fun with my friends.

They never asked me why I am the way I am. They didn't ask if I was okay or attempt to talk things out with me. They just sent me away to detention. Even sent me to therapy for my behavior. Twice. And whenever I told the therapist the smallest thing, I would find the same words being throw at me and used against me by my family.

I didn't attempt to open up again after that.

But there is a reason for the way I act the way I do. But that's a secret that I'll never let myself tell. Half human, half Enchanted and one hundred percent burnt by the flames that had promised me warmth.

Beauty in the damaged they say.

I look at the picture before me, trying my best go figure out how to finish it. It has everything I think about when I'm sitting in the rooftops in the middle of the night.

It has the starts and the moon, the lady inside that I talk to sometimes when the people down on earth don't listen.

She does. But she doesn't have much to say back.

I shake my head and sigh to myself as I give up on the painting in front of me. It has everything I need but it's missing something. Something that makes you look at it and say, 'I wish I had that feeling.'

Looking down at my watch, I sigh to myself when I see it's six thirty. Time to head home. I take the cans of paints and put them inside a black crate, covering it up with some trash and cardboard lying around before I walk back to the main road. Taking the keys out of my pocket, I throw my leg over my motorcycle and start it up.

Checking behind me, I pull out into the street before making my way to my house.

Not home.