Artistic License

My brush moved against the tense canvas, painting the taunt fabric with a splash of deep indigo. The exact colour that his eyes had been. I dipped the tip of the brush into a glass of water, dried it off on my old rag, and chose my next colour from the multihued palette of oil paint. A sandy brown, the precise shade of his hair. I dragged the brush roughly over the surface of the canvas, creating texture with every stroke of the tool. I added in other colours too, like mahogany, and oak, and chesnut, in order to perfectly capture what the mop on top of his head truly looked like in the sunshine. All the colours in his hair would come out in the sun, mixing together to create a multidimensional look.

I smiled faintly at the memory of running my fingers through his hair. We had been sitting on the porch that wrapped around his parent's summer home, chatting idly and sipping lemonade on a hot July afternoon. I turned to laugh at something funny he said, when the sunlight in his hair caught my eye. It brought out so many colours I had never seen before, so I couldn't help myself when I reached over and gently moved my fingers through it. He stopped laughing then, and just stared at my face in silence as I continued to navigate through his hair with my hand. "What's happening up there, sunshine?" he said to me.