I’m sitting on the back porch.
Watching the clouds.
I don’t turn around at the sound of footsteps.
I know whose footsteps.
Francis sighs and sits next to me, raising his head to take in the floating forms.
“I envy the clouds.”
He doesn’t say a word as slowly, I reach my hand out towards the white silk that hung in the blue sky.
“No one can touch them.”
Francis looks down, his hands falling to his knees as he whispers, “No one can touch you.”
I look at him then.
Our eyes meet as he examines me.
“No one can touch you, Layla. I swear it. Even me. Even I cannot touch you. I promise.”
I look away from his eyes and stare down at my hands.
Pink.
I had created the rose I described to Hank.
A pink rose.
Pink like the color of the bathwater after Serenity was done cleaning me.
“I need you though.”
Francis starts- visibly jerks back- from my words.
“What?”
I look up and smile.
“I read your journal. While I was gone. It was beautiful.”
He stays silent, still watching.
“But I left it there. And I don’t want to go back…” My words trail off into themselves as his eyes grow hard and face stiffens, “Will you…write me another one?”
He stares at me, thoughtful before slowly nodding his head.
He rises to leave me alone. Before he can though I say, “You can come back you know.”
He stops and turns around, he face confused as to what I mean.
I blush but brave forward, “You don’t have to sleep away from me. I actually….it would be better…I mean if you don’t mind…You being there would make me feel better.”
Francis’s breath hitches and grows unsteady. He nods and quickly looks away, leaving me in my silence.
I wake up the next day with the fading warmth on his side.
And a note.
And a note102
Unboxing Honey Insurance
Sponsored by Dynamix
Nice seeing the team learning some new skills for our clients. Makes us a smarter team all round. This unboxing video was created for Honey Insurance who offer a smarter way to protect your home and contents with their Notion – Smoke, Water and Movement sensors. Massive effort by Jacob Lopez…
Read More
I gasp at the words and slowly put the paper away, letting the beautiful poetry rest within my paintbrush tray.
Art mixing with art.
It continues like that.
Sitting on the porch, I look down to see a note has been taped to the step.
I gently peel back the tape and cradle the paper in my arms protectively, hiding the words away with the note from the morning nestled against it52
I gently peel back the tape and cradle the paper in my arms protectively, hiding the words away with the note from the morning nestled against it.
The whole day I am looking. My eyes are unconsciously scanning for another note.
I only find one more- taped to my easel.
I only find one more- taped to my easel170
I laugh at the line.
Amazing.
Francis was amazing.
I look down at my paints and slowly an idea of my own forms.
I go into his office, sighing in relief that he is not there, before I carefully paint a small moon on the handle to one of his drawers.
Then I go to the dinner table.
Sandra cries in outrage when she stumbles across me, and continued to shake her head in despair as she watched me paint the sun on the small corner of the table where Francis sat.
That night I lie tense in bed, waiting for Francis to come in.
I feel my body go rigid as the door opens.
He softly walks in and whispers, “Thank you.”
I don’t move, but I know that he is aware of my acting.
We don’t say a word though and instead continue to press our back to the other. His words spilling into my mind.
Hopefully my sun and moon were consuming his own thoughts.