Her smile wavered as she lay in
the hospital bed. "Are you done,
Charlie?" She lightly chuckled.
I shook my head as I dabbed the
brush into the misty water, filled
with different colors that merged
together seamlessly, not
fighting with one another.
Only if people were like that.
The strokes drawn were pure
soft, graceful yet poised. I erased
the darkness underneath her eyes,
I brought back the shine I once had
come to love. Her hair was like a
river, untamed. Yet soft to the eyes
like silk through your fingertips.
Her body lay on a bed
of white, as she held in
her hand a cloak. In the
cloak was a beautiful baby.
His eyes were blue like
his mother's. His hair dark
like his father's. This child
was the epitome of innocence
being brought into a world
of flaws.
"Can I see now, Charlie?"
Her voice swooned me out of
my thoughts. I nodded and
showed her the painting. and
for one tiny second, everything
felt in line.
"He is perfect," she
silently whispered.
And I wanted to say, "Just like you."
After all he has pieces of you
but I couldn't.
