Featured Item: [White~Widow] Moonlight (Kinky)
When he passed, I must admit, I wasn’t really concerned with anyone else’s feelings. I was more concerned with myself. I was so totally self-centered, all I could do was wallow in my self-pity, because – really- what did anything or anyone else matter without him in the equation?
I moped for days, weeks, months. And still, he was gone. Nothing changes just because you’re sad or bereft. At least, nothing changes outside the world. But inside, and in the orbits of those around you, things do change. People – friends and loved ones. They come by to check on you, try to get you to feel better, want to help you move past the thing that devastated you to your core.
But the truth is, nothing like that can happen unless you let it happen. And sometimes, when you’re deep down inside that well of terrible loss, there is no ladder that will hold you up to let you climb out.
That’s how I was. I don’t think I slept or took care of myself in any significant way that I wasn’t bullied into doing, by either physical weakness, or bodily pressure by my brother or sister.
I was going over and over things in my head. Running those last moments over and over, and I couldn’t make sense out of them – how could I still be here without him?
And then, the scariest thing of all happened. I didn’t notice it at first, and when I did, I was even more terrified. In my depth of depression, I couldn’t remember his face anymore. All I could see in my mind’s eye was a faint outline, like you get when you look up into the sun for a few seconds and then blink away. That blurry afterimage. That’s all I could see.
I wasn’t able to see his lips, so warm and wonderful to kiss. I couldn’t remember his long mane of pale silky locks, messy as always, framing a face of mystery and wonder. I couldn’t remember those amazing eyes, or the feeling of that soft, warm skin. Or the tattoos I used to trace with my fingers. All those features, clothed or naked, I couldn’t remember. And how we shared our art, painting, drawing, laughing, crying together. All those things. Sharing our lives.
It was fading.
It shook me so hard, I desperately tried to pull the images back from my memory, but laying alone in the dark, I couldn’t accomplish that. I had to drag myself out of the gloom that was my self-imposed dungeon, and start looking at the photographs we had taken together over the years.The pictures we had painted. The life we had built.
Strangely enough, those only helped a little.
It only seemed to help while I was actually, physically looking at them. When I would look away, it was just that blurry after-image again. And the videos we had weren’t much better.
And then it came to me, that perhaps I was looking at it the wrong way, that it was because the images were just that – they were static in time, without the vitality that was life to animate them.
Since he couldn’t provide the vitality now, it was up to me. And I didn’t know any other way to give a picture vitality than to do what I had done before – to paint.
So, I took up my brush, set up the easel, and set to it with my pallet and will. I pinned up, on the wall, every picture and image I could find, I papered the wall of my studio with his face. His likeness.
And then I started to paint.
It was a process that I hadn’t always paid that much attention to. Oh sure, I’d taken all the courses that the Arts and Sciences in college could provide, but I’d always been an instinctive artist, letting my mind go wild when I had a project.
And now, he was it. The whole of my focus.
The painting went on for days. I seemed to throw myself into it with a fervor that would have concerned my siblings, because by the time I had to really stop and rest, I had covered a wall in him. Well, covered the wall with paintings of him, combining images from the photos, and pinning the paintings over top of them. They were all so nicely done, too.
But, I didn’t feel like it was him, for some reason. It was bits and pieces.
What was missing from the image was me, as selfish as that sounds.
I wanted to be in that scene with him.
I wanted him to hold me.
And then, one night, I woke from a dream. He and I were together in the dream, and he was trying to tell me something. And then I realized, I’d been having this dream for weeks, over and over, but like most dreams, you forget the details when you wake, after a while. But this time, I remembered, and he knew I would remember. Somehow he did.
So, I went back to the canvas, and this time, I got meticulous. This time I poured all that was left of me into the image. It was like I bled myself down the brush and onto the canvas. I created an image from my dreams. It leaped from my head, to the canvas. It was of him and me, together. This time, I wasn’t going to look away from the sun, from the bright light of the two of us. This time, I was going to stare at it until I couldn’t see any longer.
I bled myself into the painting.
Something special, strange, and wonderful happened that night. The night the paints came alive.
The night I found you once more, beyond the void that death creates.
The night I finally found you, once more. The night I joined you. The night you pulled me in with you, and we were together again.
I wanted you to hold me again. And you did.
I know this is all strange, and hard to understand, but we are both together again.
All it took was for me to want to hold him, as much as I wanted him to hold me.
The painting is all you will find that is left of me. Please understand that I was incomplete without him. Really, we were incomplete without each other.
And now I am with him, forever and always. He holds me.
Hair- TRUTH HAIR Ryleigh & Xia combo (Store)
Eyeshadow- Zibska ~ Rie (Store)
[White~Widow] Moonlight (Kinky)
Paintbrush- [n.i] on.the.gogh.small.paint.brush (Store)