His Art...His Life...

He wanted to capture that ‘breathtaking beauty’. It was his imagination, delusion but it was certainly there…he sat down to sketch, fidgeting in his chair, elbows on the table until he got that correct comfortable position. It was past midnight and the only sound was his own breath and a queer sound that always accompanied darkness… ‘That led the blind to their destination, that which could answer your queries only if you listened while it answered…’ This, he often wondered, if his ears already held in them, like Inertia of sound…all the sound couldn’t really be shut at once and the leftovers were not without use…

The toes formed…tender and feminine. He began shading the right parts near the nails…This monotonous act got him thinking while his subconscious was absorbed shading…at times he thought of the outcome, the finale, the masterpiece completed…this alone gave him the purpose to stay put…only while he knew that every dot, every stroke, every shade, every movement, every blink of his eye brought a new perspective to examine and perfect it until he fell in love with his art more and more. At times, the very thought of how those subtle nuances could bring in more life was refreshing…This thought was an elixir to his life and art, quite synonymic now.

This delusion was demanding more life from him this time, he was being lost in a flood of feelings as this work of art took shape…Now he longed to see that girl, who played with his senses, she controlled his emotions and yet he loved her…he began to get a queer sensation that she was watching him sketch…he felt silly, but nonetheless assayed hard to make it impeccable.

He dispute whether or not to sketch a necklace and decided he wanted a slight chain, almost like it wasn’t there and got distinct only if one looked on… with a loud locket that fell down onto her bosom. As he got to her lips, he felt a deep ache, he deciphered its cause was to see it ending …The joy was to conclude.
He was quick with the nose, proper position, a deep breath and a quick stroke…Lo…you could believe it had a perfect bone and muscle behind it!

Dawn broke and she was almost there, only her hair needed shading and he accomplished it patiently, feeling burnt with ecstasy…he paused by every stroke, only to review and relish the feeling.

As she came by, he felt endless stripping pain…a low and flashy feeling in his stomach…
He looked into her eyes and the pain deepened…he only looked on…sighing with longing, she was his masterpiece, his own, his Life and the more he finished it, the more he seemed to lose himself…to what? It’s a mere sketch…This thought never crossed his mind. Far from reality and letting the madness rule, he never once felt it was a sketch…a play of his pencil… a piece of wood, graphite, wax and calcium carbonate and to ice the cake, his imagination????

The doorbell brought him back from wherever he was…maybe from the world of art and its elation… his very breath and Love… ‘Breath and love’, he reflected…what else would you want to survive??? He stared at the girl an knew he was in love… he was looking at the love of his life…smilingly, he got up to push his chair back an carried that smile to the door…later wishing he dint make such a bad impression, but there he was watching open mouthed, gawking at the figure whose one hand was playing with a chain and another caught a newspaper picked from the doorstep and said “Er…Hai…I’m Synthia…I moved into the neighborhood right yesterday, can I borrow the newspaper?”