Souls

A Story by Lyfe

What makes a person?

She sits across the room, observing the masses. She has the most beautiful bow shaped lips. I study them as she mouths her thoughts to herself, writing things down. I can tell she’s working on a piece, using the passersby as inspiration, because her hair is in a crazy bun, her “I’m getting creative” hairdo. She only wears it that way if she’s writing, drawing, or dancing. Most of my paintings of her she is wearing her hair this way, I love painting her at her most content. Beautiful long slender fingers, tall beautiful frame, curves that give my paintbrush something to work with, she has it all. The most beautiful thing about her though, her striking Amber eyes. Something you don’t see on a lot of black women. I stare into them on the canvas, and at the tattoo on her left ring finger, that matches mine. Wishing that this side of her loved me too, that she always knew me. But when her hair is in that “Creative bun” and her eyes are amber she is no longer my loving wife Laura, structured and neat. She is Ava, creative and wild. And she doesn’t know I exist. I feel her piercing gaze. Meeting it I watch those amber eyes creep to grey, staring into my soul. For a brief second I see a glint, a glimmer of remembrance, then it’s gone and all that’s left is “Ava’s” playful amber stare.

The painter in me is caught up in the previous blend of amber and grey against cocoa caramel skin and auburn hair. The man in me is focused on the flirtatious way Ava continues to eye me, sometimes I can’t wait for Ava to come visit. The husband in me misses Laura as if she died. I glance at her one last time before I pack up my paints and go back home. Waiting for Laura to return to me.