She remembered staring into the back of his body,
observing him as he observed the art in front of him…
unaware that he was art himself.
what a cliché to think so,
but oh my god it’s true.
The moment she saw him she noticed it—
In the way he moved,
In the way he spoke.
And in the way he smoked his cigarette.
Always so cool
and somehow always so beautiful.
The more she knew him, the more she knew this to be true.
Art lived in the way his hands felt against her skin,
In the way his silver voice would soothe and seduce
In the way he would uncover and declare his most intimate aspirations and intentions for himself, for her and for the world.
But she saw it mostly in the way that he loved her.
He was wearing a blue collared shirt now, his body tense.
The truth was they had just spent the most beautiful day together, but entering the art gallery after the long day was like entering a vacuum which sucks your patience and energy, leaving you with irritability and tired spirits.
Anxiety was high,
and between the both of them, it was enough to consume a sound state of mind...
maybe even two.
She looked at Caleb and
m a r v e l l e d
at how beautifully he blended
with the large painting he stared at.
The blue hue of his shirt matched the abstract blue color scheme of the painted scene ahead and she thought of how fitting it was that he fit so well among these masterpieces.
She wanted to remember this day forever, and so she grabbed her camera from her bag just as he began to move toward the next painting.
“Just a second please!”
She called to him.
He stopped but didn’t look back or acknowledge that she spoke; she heard him sigh and watched his arms pull tighter to the sides of his torso, and the rest of his body follow suit and tense as she snapped the photo.
She muttered under her breath, and continued to avoid him in every room they explored from there on.
She was being childish,
and deep down she hated herself for it,
but was not c l e a r headed
enough to pull herself together.
She was offended and wounded at his impatience with her earlier, forgetting her own toward him, so when he came over to her and said
“okay, let’s go home.”
she could only look at him and fill with rage as they left the building in a huff.
They stood in front of the gallery, trying to understand each other and trying not to hurt each other with the words they
s p i l l e d .
A year later she would not be able to remember what all their fuss was about, though at the time it felt important.
They were interrupted anyhow, when a tall man with kind eyes and a fancy camera in his hand walked up to them.
“Sorry to bother you, but do you mind if I photograph the two of you in front of the gallery? You don’t have to pose, just as you are is perfect. Your red dress will make for a great photograph.”
She smiled softly
and Caleb turned his head to the photographer,
“not to mention she’s beautiful.”
He looked at her then and she could feel her face redden and become hot with a flurry of different emotions.
They stood on arguing as the man with the camera snapped his photo from far enough away not to hear a word and left.
Something about the interruption seemed to take the heaviness out of the air and left the two breathing easier as they looked at each other.
The sun was setting and the wind grew cold;
t i r e d …
tired enough to see with proper perspective over this whole silly fight.
Tired enough to know that she wasn’t fighting for anything important enough to really be quarrelling in the first place.
Tired enough to say:
“I’m sorry, this is stupid.
Can we go home?”
He smiled and put his arms around her.
Somewhere during their argument he had placed his jacket on her while she was shivering in the wind…she had only just noticed.
She breathed into his chest and let out all her frustration with one breath. He took her hand and they went home.
Gemma thought on how wonderful it was to find that love didn’t have to hurt.