lullabies (put me to ease)

he is an artist

I fell in love by the talented hands of his, by the gentle gaze he holds, by every stroke of his brush on the canvas.

First off, I don’t intend to make this romantic. I did, but I choose not to anymore. This is merely me rambling about the confession I have to make because I think I’ve fallen for someone, fallen so hard I don’t think I can go back.

He is an artist. An artist of all sorts, blessed with a structured face and blessed eyes that could see through the beauty within things. He has an affinity with colors; something I find extremely cute and beautiful at the same time. The colors of nature draw him in the most and I would listen to him talk all day about the seventy five different shades of the clouds or even the three shades of the grass. I would love to watch him as he works, though he’d rarely let me, as he finishes the last bits of his masterpiece. Every accurate carve of the human features had always been breathtaking, they never fail to amaze me. He never fails to amaze me.

He is an artist, born to be, blessed with infinite talent, proven through the strums of his guitar. Playlist filled with 90s ballads and beautifully anguished voices he sings and follows, soul filled with an empty space but exposed in the form of a melancholic voice. His voice reminds me of heartbreak, so does the songs he sings. His heart cries out for love, but he isn’t sure if he was ready for it yet, or if he was just scared to be broken at last, once again.

He loves lights. He’s got a whole lot of different ones at home, and I would love to switch them one by one. Neither of us like white lights because they sting our eyes and never had they even once reminded us of the sun. so when night falls we would sit in a room with dim, warm rays from the stand lamp next to the monstera, from the fairy lights in my living room, from the two bedside lamps next to our bed, from the reading lamp we intentionally put next to the couch, from the candles on the dining table, from the light over our cooking stove. Sometimes we would switch them all off and fall asleep on the couch as the light from the television illuminates the dark space until finally, the light that we love most seeps in through our cheap curtains in the morning after dawn strikes.

I loved his habits that were similar to mine, where we loved arranging our clothes according to color. I liked pairing my outfits with his as we choose to wear ones with a color in common. I loved the fact that he had always done the dishes right away especially after eating, and I loved the fact that we would both entertain ourselves watching cat videos because I was allergic to cats.

I loved watching him work. I loved being in his studio the most; the place where I rarely get to step in. he says it’s mostly because his works mainly remind him of me, and that made him embarrassed to have me in person right in front of him. I loved going through the fashion magazines he had put on top of the coffee table and going through them, secretly glancing at him who looked at his work with a gaze that he’s never looked at me with; full of concentration and shoulders that never moved while he holds a breath. I loved him the most as he worked, because he is now someone that has achieved his childhood dreams and loves what he does, and I couldn’t be any happier than him.

His laugh was the most contagious, one that made myself smile without realizing. His eyes crinkle, and he tends to cover his mouth when he laughs too hard. I’ve only seen him laugh out loud once, and only once, and that itself was already more than enough for me because nobody has ever seen him laugh out loud, either.

But most of all, I loved him for who he was. He was gentle and loving, completely understanding whenever I’ve had countless arguments with mom in the middle of the night. He was gentle even when I had hurt him by saying something I didn;t really mean. He was gentle, even when I burnt our breakfast or when I forgot to do the laundry. The palm of his hand had always been warm and it makes me feel reassured whenever he pats the top of my head as if I were a child. He was beautiful in every way; his features and his heart, his soul much more worthy than gold.

He was an artist, and I loved him so.