Her Eyes

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Glynis_Rankin

 

by Glynis Rankin

The painter dashed from his bed to grab his brushes.  Obsessed, he painted with enthusiastic vigor as the orange sun crests the morning sky. Bright colors spilled as brushes flew against the blank canvas with speed and grace as the master painter rushed to create an image from his memory. Working fast, he had no time to spare or his vision would fade.

 

Desperately he worked trying to recapture the image of the woman in his dreams. He remembered every sensation including her voice; sweet and pleasant as if honeysuckle floated on a lazy summer breeze. Her skin was soft as a child’s that warmed to his touch.  Lavender and white lace; her aroma lingered in his senses while her smile challenged the sun in its brilliance.  Everything about her intoxicated his palate and brought forth his creativity as he tried to restructure her essence on the canvas.

 

She came to him every night. A vision of beauty whispering her undying love and each morning before he woke, she made him promise to find her. He promised needing to have her in this world. Every morning as the sun rose and his eyes sprang open, the painter rushed to the canvas desperate to reconstruct a face from his dreams.  For years he had tried to recreate the wisp that lingered of his dream love using the tools of his trade.

 

Finished, he stepped back to examine what his hands wrought that day. He stared at his creation while paint dripped from his trembling hands. It was a masterpiece like so many others that had brought him fame and fortune. Passionate, brilliant, inspiring those of the art world calmed, telling him his work held true life. Yet for the painter all their accolades meant nothing.

 

For all his hard work and determination to recreate a great masterpiece, he gazed at just another piece of worthless junk. The painter has yet to succeed in reaching his heart’s desire, to paint the one thing that fueled his passion over the years, the image of his true love.

 

Frustrated, he threw his brushes at the wet canvas toppling it to the floor as he turned away from his failure. He was weeping as he entered the large room full of portraits depicting the only thing he could reconstruct of his undying love, her beautiful brown eyes.

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