You never fail to have that sparkle in your eyes every time you see bluebird, and I know that you want more than anything to have your canvas and tools so that you re-create your precious little bird. They were your mom’s favorite too, and by the good graces of life you also took after her beautiful smile as well.
Oh, how I get the everlasting feeling of gratitude for you when you’re in your tiny studio right next to our bed, begging for my permission to let you paint me when I wake up. You argue that you love how the sunlight catches my droopy eyes when I rise from my so-called “peaceful sleep.” And I honestly will never understand how you find the beauty within the crust of my tiny browns, yet I can’t help but giggle at your weird sense of pride in me doing nothing but coming out of my unconsciousness.
But I know that whenever you get an idea in your head, there’s no stopping you from getting your rusty lavender brush and painting on whatever is available so that you can bring what’s in your mind to life. You aren’t so good with your words, but your pictures are at least worth 1,001 of them. And those very strokes speak to my heart in ways that only your magic can touch.
It’s kind of funny how the silence between us when you’re doing one of your paintings is what I enjoy the most, because in that moment, I know exactly where you are. You love painting more than you love yourself because you are a painter before anything else, and for you to allow me to take my little notebooks and write what I see—you being in your most vulnerable state—shows me that you’re truly in love with simple ole me.
They say that falling in love with a writer means that you’ll never die, but I also believe that falling in love with a painter means that too. And with that, our love will be forever infinite; yet I can never get enough of you, my favorite girl, for every time I inhale you I’m ready to skip the exhales just to get right back to taking you in.
There will never be enough words for me to fathom how I feel, so I’ll leave it at this: I love you, my sweetest little painter, and may we have endless beginnings.