Daylight, My Guide Gone

I envisioned an old attic. I cannot tell you the location of this attic or which house it is apart of. I cannot fathom which street that house is located or where in this world that street could possibly be. But, I can tell you the look and feel of this particular attic. Old wooden planks make up the floor, from the looks I would guess it to date back to the late 50's or early 60s. Sparse, silvery cobwebs hang from rafters and crossbeams in the ceiling. Oh, and the footprints in the fine layer of dust coating those rickety floorboards! Those are my favorite part, like the rising action of a good novel. Say you just walked up the stairs into attic, you notice these footprints first. So naturally, your eyes follow them; right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, etc. You'll discover that at the end of the imprinted trail rests a collection of studio utilities. An aged art easel sits furthest back holding a relatively large, blank white canvas. In front of that sits two, four-legged wooden bar stools, one slightly higher than the other. The stools are tucked fairly close to the easel and even closer to each other, like an oddly matching pair. There are brushes in a paint-crusted jar of water sitting on a slender, make-shift end table to the left of the canvas. Beside the jar, partially-used tubes of oil paints piled amongst two disheveled painting pallets can be seen, as if still in use mid-session by whatever artists occupied those particular stools.

Within this scene, there is nothing but two souls. The tools are the means by which they express their happiness towards each other. There is no stress, no pain, no chaos. There exists no world outside that attic. Time has no meaning in a space where it cannot be monitored. Every individual stroke of their paintbrushes exemplifies passion and intensity. The colors used are vivid and exciting. Regardless of the amount of paint applied or the size of the canvas, there is always space to continue painting; for they paint over the old work with fresh colors more vibrant and expressive than the last. They share a love for art; a love for life; a love for each other.

I will not write you a love song, but perhaps I shall paint a work of art with you.

Questionably yours,
~Chiko?