No words like your paintings
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  • Parts 2
  • Time 7m
  • Reads 10
  • Votes 0
  • Parts 2
  • Time 7m
Complete, First published Sep 27, 2023
I watched him paint a thousand time and yet, when he painted me, I would miss the meaning of it. How come someone can see art everywhere? How can he see art in me?
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28 parts Complete Mature
I woke to a sudden breeze invading the warmth from the heavy blanket that caressed my skin. Here, alone with my thoughts, the still, calm quiet in the atmosphere is almost painful. I feel suffocated in the clingy, static air. In quiet, still moments like these, I can almost feel Him. I don't know who "Him" is, but I can feel his presence. It's almost calming, especially on fearful, anxiety fueled nights. Usually, he was the strongest when I had a nightmare. The nightmares weren't as common now, but, right after everything happened, I was having them every night. I'd wake up and swear I was drenched in blood, my eyes and lips sticky, my nose filled with the smell of iron and fuel. After everything, that's when Him first came. From there, he just never left. I can usually sense when Him is near. Today, though, his presence is stronger. I can almost feel Him next to me, weighing down the mattress. Some nights, I roll over and imagine how he looks, envision his smile or the sparkle in his eyes. He's never there and I'm left clutching to the thought that he exists, staring into empty air. Tonight, though, I swear I can reach out and touch him. Extending my hand gently, I sweep my hand out into the darkness and meet an inexplicable warmth. A scream rips from my lungs as hands cover my face and two icy blue eyes stare back at me, daring me to speak again. A soft cloth caressed my nose and mouth before I felt myself fade into bed. All Rights Reserved. Contains graphic descriptions of violence and assault. Contains battle scene.
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