[16] – Gallery
“Is this one yours too?”
The girl nodded,
As they went around the Art Gallery together.
“I like your paintings.”
The girl nodded.
“Any specific reason to that?”
“The way you paint is rather special.
It’s not entirely happy;
It’s not exactly sad.
But there’s so much emotion still.
They tell a story too.
As a journalist, I would know.
But you tell it without words.
Which is something I probably can’t do.”
The girl smiled lightly.
“I could teach you.”
The boy’s eyes gleamed as he looked down
At the girl happily.
“You would?”
The girl nodded.
“After we finish the tour of the gallery
We can go behind to the studio
And I will teach you to express without words.”
As they walked down the gallery hallway
The boy interlaced his fingers with hers.
The girl flinched from surprise
But her hand remained in his.
The boy smiled brighter in months
As they walked down
Hand in hand.
YOU ARE READING
Pluviophile
PoetryIt was a rainy day, in New York no less. One held a cup of coffee, wishing for the rain to stop. One held a hand full of old books, savouring the moment. short story #98 poetry #51
