I look at you and time seems to stop.
Let me reframe it.
I look at you and time begins to rush.
Let me reframe it Angel.
When I am looking at you, time doesn’t exist. Time loses it’s worth. Time liquidates. Time melts and turns into pockets of eternal joy and that is because you’re beautiful.
When I look at your fingers, I find the strength and fragility happily married. Fingers that suit a bass or cello player. Fingers that Michaelangelo would have taken years only to carve them imperfect.
Your cheekbones. When the back of my fingers caress them, I feel as if I am playing with dandelions. Your long chin. When my thumb traces the route from your jaw to your chin and back again like a pilgrim, I wonder if Shakespeare would’ve written a ballad on this chin only to do no justice.
When our eyes lock…
When our eyes lock, I feel your soul.
You’re not a human.
You’re a painting of a setting sun into the valley of green lush pines. You’re a lithograph of the rising sun from the ocean at the side of a beach. You’re a sketch of the rising new moon on a starry starry night.
When God made you, he was idle. He was at peace and reading philosophy. He was a painter off duty who was painting for his soul. He became Vincent Van Goug when he was creating you.
Cause after you, there’ll be no you.
“Al, would it take a while more?”, you ask through your lips stiff and barely moving.
“A while.”, I say and my brush moves over the canvas more.
I love to sketch you or paint you. It takes my focus and it gives me an excuse to just see you and nothinh else.
“Wait my angel, just a little while more.”
Your broad forehead and long chin. Prominent cheekbones and long fingers. Black eyes locked up into mine and I try to capture you. I don’t like to restrict you but while painting I cease you. It’s like a cage for an instant. A moment in time which is frozen over. Forever.
I always manage to smudge myself while painting you.
Your hair falling down behind your shoulders and you sit still. Which is honestly the hardest part in this while process but somehow you manage to do it with ease.
“Al, more waiting?”, you ask me.
“Done.”, I say and you come running to see it. Excitement is always in your eyes to see what new have I produced. My greatest admirer.
You lean over to see, something! It’s not a painting or a portrait for sure. It’s not a sketch either. It’s not even a caricature. Caricature has got resemblance! This looks vaguely like you.
“It’s not good.”, I say a bit dejected.
“It’s awesome Al! I love it a looooooooot!”, you say spinning in circles.
I admire you spinning and laughing joyously and feel my heart flutter. It’s amazing how you take pleasure in the simple things of life, like a something which vaguely resembles you.
And the imagination of your reaction at a great work of mine always pushes me to work harder.