Watercolor Vision

The painter’s palate held a swirling pool of colors. Blues and purples mixed to produce a hue of melancholy. The black, wooden desk was littered with paper towels drenched in watercolor and paintbrushes, which acted as translators from the man’s imagination to the blank canvas before him.

He began with the night sky. Using a broad and thick brush soaked with water and paint, he dragged it across the top of the paper. A feint, blue hint followed the brush’s bristles. He stirred purple streaks into the twilight scene. A moon rested in an opening between the clouds. He could begin to feel the frost stroke his breath as he watched the clouds roll past the moon.

Bold, blue trees occulted the hill that rested below the indigo horizon. The aroma of spruce wafted upwards from the valley below. It filled the man’s lungs as the sound of a stream trailing over ice resonated through the dark pines. Not a single creature sang melodies to the dimness of the night in the frigid winter. Resting, buried below the frozen ground they slept mute. His fingers lay opened on the raw dirt he sat on. A girl sat beside him, her legs swinging over the steep ledge.

Her hair fell over her shoulders and her eyes fixated on the forest that whispered poetry into her ears. She planted her hands in the lifeless ground below her, lying only a few inches away from the man’s.

He glanced over at her, filling in her beauty with the narrow tip of his brush.

She lifted her hand and laid it on his. Electricity came raining down on him.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke through bitter lips. “I genuinely ache knowing that I’ve hurt you.” He remained; paralyzed. His heart raced as he moved his hand to hold hers.

“You’re such an amazing friend, and it would truly pain me to lose you, especially knowing I was the reason for your absence.” She gazed into him with blue jewels followed by an earnest expression alongside worry. He stayed silent; wanting to speak but the cold sealed the words inside his mouth.

“I think its best we stay just that; a beautiful friendship that I cherish and value deeply.” She paused for his response. “I can only hope you are content with that as well.” She peered away from him to the tree line poking the cobalt dusk. A frigid breeze stung her face and grew her eyes heavy with tears.

The painter stood up from his seat. A finished portrait lay before him. Retreating from his watercolor vision, he still felt her hand wrapped between his fingers and the warmth that glowed from her. The bitter wind sat dormant in his hair.

He wept, leaving the girl he adored alone in the cold.