My Love

My brushes lay expectantly on my desk. It’s been a week since we’ve created a masterpiece together. Pots of paints and tubes of tints in every imaginable color stare up from their holder. Pick me they shriek. I grab a sponge still speckled brown from the last time we worked together. Three drops of brown on the center and we’re ready to begin.

I missed the rhythmic motion of dabbing the sponge onto my canvas. Missed seeing it spread, even out, transform the blank space. I smile as the idea for this new masterpiece unfurls in my mind. I already see it.

Next, I reach for a palette of three shades of brown, ranging from milk chocolate to dark chocolate. Using an angled brush, I flick my wrist I make tiny strokes with the milk chocolate to the beat of “Under Control” by The Internet. The excitement undulates up and down my spine causing me to shiver.

A pot of gold paint winks at me under the light of my desk lamp. Yes, I think to myself, you’re the one. I take a brush with a rounded tip, its wooden handle fitting perfectly in my grip. After spritzing it with some water, I swirl it around the pot becoming more and more mesmerized as the speckles of gold collect on the tip of the brush. Back and forth then back and forth. We sweep gold down the sloping center of the canvas. Caress it along the sides. We sweep until there is nothing but gold. A black felt tip marker follows to outline some of the gold deposits. Now they shimmer even more. My masterpiece is coming together beautifully.

I automatically reach for a tube filled with rich burgundy paint. My favorite color. A brush with a fluffed tip bleeds unto the center of the canvas.

“Done,” I whisper with pride.

Once again, my makeup is flawless.