To Draw You

I have always longed to paint you, my sweet, but to paint you would be a crime. For anyone who would look upon that canvas could never comprehend the awe you erect from all who lay their eyes upon you. Oh, what a blessing it is to lay my eyes upon you, none deserve the honor, not even I. You once asked me how you looked and I told you you were beautiful. Then you asked me what you looked like. Your hair is like melting chocolate, my dear, and your eyes are caramel colored mirrors, mirrors which reflect only the best in people. I could stare into them for hours, your eyes are my salvation. Yet best of all is your infectious smile, the way it glows and spreads so naturally across your face, like it was always meant to be there. If I could have a single wish, it would be that your smile would never fade. It rarely does anyways, for you smile when you work, you smile when you play, and you smiled when you asked me to draw a picture of you. I said yes, only to keep that smile upon your face, but the truth is I am terrified to draw you. It is greatest fear that I will fail, and failure is inevitable when attempting to recreate the perfection of which you are. You posed for me. Grinning and fidgeting around, trying to look your best. You always look your best though, no matter the angle. My fingers trembled and any attempt to steady them was fruitless. I lifted the pencil and placed it down gently on the crisp, white paper. Stroke after stroke, I traced the edges of your jaw and the outline of your neck. The clock ticked yet your smile never fell nor weakened. Next was your hair, which flowed down your shoulders and back, cutting off before reaching the paper's cliff. Your smile took the longest, for I could not seem to capture it's beauty and radiance. Last were your eyes. I was hesitant to start them, the eyes are the windows to the soul, in life and in art. You soul is so vast and magnificent I knew it wasn't possible to recreate your eyes, but you asked and so I tried. I so completely and utterly failed, yet when you rest your eyes upon the drawing you gasped as though you had seen the a ghost.

"That's… not me… That person you drew is far too beautiful to be me…" You murmured. I looked up at you with a twinge of sadness. How could you not see that it was the other way around? You are far too beautiful to be drawn, that person on the page pales in comparison. Barely to be considered a shadow of your true beauty. If only you looked to the mirror instead of the shadows...

Author's Note

Just a quick doodle write, sorry if it's not very good.

Reviews

[A. H. Pinley]

Nice write. Where's the picture?