Monday, May 01, 2006

the muse

I watched him as he crossed the room towards me. Tall, pale, blonde, dressed in a grey sleeveless t-shirt and dark jeans. I was standing examining a paint palette that had about 50 identical small blue paint pans and one tiny yellow one, wondering whether landscape painting really was for me, if there was to be no red at all.

He picked up his palette and turned to speak. Stammered between gulping breaths that he found it too hard to speak to me; that he couldn’t breathe properly when I was around. I considered asking him how he was ever going to manage to kiss me, but decided we could find a way around that.

It wasn’t until I was following him out of the room that I realised he was beautiful.