Street Painter

"Timothy, you can choose who you love, the same way you pick your clothes, what color goes on a canvas or even what food to make. You're in charge of your own choices." I had to hand it to Toby, this script was very strong.

I heard a bitter laugh, one that had my heart drop. Looking up at Marcus, he's standing rather rigid, his lips letting out the broken bitter laugh. Not his usual head tilted, small snort and dimple faced laugh; yet it felt real. His eyes weren't their beautiful hazel, they were Murky with tears on the rims.

"Who are you to tell me that I have a choice? Why give me false hope that the world doesn't hold my heart as it's pawn?" Five feet apart turned into one as he strides over, putting his hands on either side of my face. His rough yet gentle hands pushing away my loose curl. His face so close I can feel the shadow of his lips over mine.

"If I say I love Sarah, why does the world bring me back to you Maria?"

Even once he pulled away, even as Toby and the drama group clapped with awe; I touch my lips softly, still feeling the shadow of his lips.
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The world is strange isn't it? The smallest thing, the flap of a butterfly's wing of even just running into a canvas; could change everything. The people we meet, the people who hurt us, the ones who remember us; whether you regret or won't forget meeting them, they came to you for a reason. Call it what you want, god, faith, destiny or even a coincidence. I know that it was the world that had me run into that canvas and meet Marcus Belle, a Street Painter.