They say that love can influence an artist's perspective and style, resulting in a unique and personal Interpretation of their craft. This was the primary reason Tracey fell head over heels for Ade. Almost all her life, she's craved the love of an artist; being painted with the finest of colors on a board and mind blowing poetic words scribbled at the bottom of the painting excited her. But It's been two years and counting and Ade has not fulfilled that unspoken wish of Tracey.
Rain pouring down, turning the world outside into a blur of gray. Tracey sat alone in her living room, the soft glow of the fireplace flickering across her face as she stared at the painting on the chair opposite her; It was another artist's painting. Suddenly, her phone chimed and she lazily picked it up.
"I wish you could describe how much you miss me with a painting," she whispered as she looked at the message on her screen, her voice barely louder than the rain tapping on the windowpane. She sighed, put the phone down, and crouched on the couch, tears welling up in her eyes.
It's been ten months since she left her home town for service in another state. Her boyfriend kept her posted on how he was doing and how work was going by sending her different paintings he made for people. Most of them left her shattered because they spoke louder emotions than words could. It hurt her so much because he could paint vivid images for people but couldn't paint one for her. She tried telling him using body language severally but he never paid attention.
She had just two months to complete her service for the country before returning back to her hometown but it saddened her heart that she was going back to keep loving a man that couldn't understand body language or even give her a normal painting no matter how disorganized it may seem.
"I can't deal" she muttered as she absently ran her hands on the table in search of her phone still lost in thoughts. "I'll tell him we should take a break" she said when she found the phone. Sitting upright, she opened her messaging app and sent him a three-sentence message, then she archived their chat.
Lots of calls came in from Ade a few hours later but Tracey fought hard with her heart to not return or take any one. "Nothing is going to change," she said, took a deep breath and walked into her room.
Some minutes later, she was out, dressed in a short red sequin dress, her lips covered with red lipstick, her hair folded up into a messy bun, with black stilettos and a black purse to match. The streets were bathed in a soft glow of lights, glistening with the shimmering remnants of the recent rainfall. Tracey took a deep breath as she crossed the road. Her footsteps created ripples in the puddles that had formed. She wrapped her hands around her body as she walked down the pavement to the bar that sat a few blocks away from her house.
Music boomed in the air, the bar was foggy and filled with smoke from cigarettes. A poet was on stage performing. Tracey walked to the counter and took a seat as she ordered three shots of whiskey. She listened attentively to the poet as he displayed uniqueness. His words made her think deeply as she kept drowning shots of whiskey and ordering more. She paused when her phone chimed again after hours of nothing coming in. Her senses intact, she brought the phone out of her purse and mopped at it as tears welled in her eyes. It was an email from Ade with an attachment.
She put the phone back in her bag and by the time she lifted her head up, the poet was done and the crowd cheered for him. The slow music in the background made Tracey weep as she took one more shot, pulled out a five dollar note from her purse and pushed it to the bartender who had served her. She got up from her seat, took off her shoes and slouched back home with tears flowing freely down her cheeks.
After returning home, she dropped everything on the table and rushed to her room, overwhelmed by the intensity of her emotions. ''Is it possible to miss him this much in just a few hours?'' she wondered aloud. With her face buried in the pillow, she clutched the sheets tightly and gradually fell into a deep and restless sleep.
As morning broke, Tracey awoke to the sounds of butterflies fluttering outside her window and the raucous caw of a crow. Her head pounded from the night before, and her living room bore witness to the aftermath of her emotional whirlwind. Shoes lay scattered in different corners, and the door had been left unlocked in her haste to escape the weight of her emotions.
She sighed and slid into the chair opposite her TV the moment she remembered what had happened the previous night, then she picked up her phone.
Her heart raced with anticipation as she clicked open the message from Ade. Her eyes widened in surprise and her breath caught in her throat the moment she beheld the artistic attachment he had sent.
The image on her screen was a breathtaking painting of herself, rendered with exquisite detail and emotion. Every brushstroke seemed to capture the essence of her being, from the way her hair fell gracefully around her shoulders to the spark of her eyes. It was as if he had painted her soul onto the canvas.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she gazed at the image, her emotions overwhelming her. At the bottom of the painting, in his familiar handwriting, were the simple yet powerful words, "I miss you." The shock and joy she felt were indescribable, and her heart swelled with love for the man who had created this beautiful masterpiece just to express his longing for her.
She returned her gaze to the message before the attachment and it read "let the shines fall if it may, my love will forever stand tall as a mountain." At that moment, Tracey realized how deeply he cared for her, and her heartache from the past years was momentarily replaced by a warm, comforting feeling of love and connection. In that one painting, she knew she was cherished, and this artistic gift had touched the deepest part of her soul in a way that words alone could never convey.
With tears of joy in her brown eyes, she dialed his number and it rang outside her door. "He came?" This startled Tracey as she tiptoed to the door. She peeped through the small hole and he was right there, head bent, looking broken.
As she turned the doorknob, the door swung open revealing the figure of Ade holding the same painting in a delicate frame. His eyes slightly puffy and discolored, met hers with a bit of longing and vulnerability.
"May I come in?" His speech was slurred and slower than usual. Without a word, she pulled him inside, their embrace speaking volumes as the warmth of their love filled the room.