Painting Love [Marchel]
Jan 30, 2010 11:38:03 GMT -5
Post by Jillian Cabell on Jan 30, 2010 11:38:03 GMT -5
It was difficult, not knowing what was to happen now that she’d crossed that barrier. She knew lots of guys got iffy about the whole idea of love, but she didn’t think Marchel would. Which made it a lot harder to deal with, because she was the one who was so iffy about it. She hadn’t yet seen Marchel’s reaction to her words because she’d been avoiding him since then. Just to clear her head and not seem neurotic when she saw him next. She’d questioned her love for him, no doubt, a num ber of times in the last couple days, and she’d always come to the conclusion that she wouldn’t have said it if she didn’t feel it…even if it was online instead of person. And that in itself made her feel like a loser. She was so afraid and iffy about the idea of loving someone that she hadn’t been able to say it to his face, which made her feel a bit sad, because it was certainly not the smartest way to go about things. The paper had been right, it was a bit pathetic to actually take that approach and she couldn’t help but wonder how Marchel felt about it. She hadn’t allowed him the time to talk about it.
Abby had been right, she probably needed to talk to him sometime soon, but now just seemed like a perfect time to just clear her head and get into a different zone where all her worries faded away and it was like she was the only person in the world. And that was why she’d decided to come paint. It was therapeutic for her. And after dressing in her paint pants and shirts and shoes, which of course were splattered in leftover paint that wouldn’t come off, she made her way to an art room, her favorite one where she could look outside at a perfect view of the courtyard. She took out all her supplies, set up her canvas and cleared her mind before beginning. She didn’t have an idea of what to paint or a need – she’d lied about her project – she just let painted. Sometimes she’d take long, even strokes and at other times she’d toss a bit of pain on the blank spaces and used her fingers to spread it and create odd textures. Occasionally she’d move away to look at it, absent-mindedly placing her hand to her hips or to her face, leaving trails of paint where they touch. It was something she’d gotten used to anyway. The feel of paint. Closing her eyes, she pressed her hand to her forehead as everything came rushing back into focus.
Abby had been right, she probably needed to talk to him sometime soon, but now just seemed like a perfect time to just clear her head and get into a different zone where all her worries faded away and it was like she was the only person in the world. And that was why she’d decided to come paint. It was therapeutic for her. And after dressing in her paint pants and shirts and shoes, which of course were splattered in leftover paint that wouldn’t come off, she made her way to an art room, her favorite one where she could look outside at a perfect view of the courtyard. She took out all her supplies, set up her canvas and cleared her mind before beginning. She didn’t have an idea of what to paint or a need – she’d lied about her project – she just let painted. Sometimes she’d take long, even strokes and at other times she’d toss a bit of pain on the blank spaces and used her fingers to spread it and create odd textures. Occasionally she’d move away to look at it, absent-mindedly placing her hand to her hips or to her face, leaving trails of paint where they touch. It was something she’d gotten used to anyway. The feel of paint. Closing her eyes, she pressed her hand to her forehead as everything came rushing back into focus.