Endlessly -7-
:Alex:
This wait was eating away at my chest. I wanted to know him completely. I didn't need him to tell me what had happened between him and Dom. It sufficed to look into their eyes as they spoke to each other. The details are meaningless, when one feels the way they do. And as I do, in a slightly different sense.
I pulled a little Victorian-styled chair into Matt's bedroom and took the liberty of drawing him in his sleep. He was so beautiful. He slept like a little white angel on a cloud, blushing cheeks, arms and legs outstretched in supreme comfort and relaxation. As far as he was concerned, he was in heaven. That's why I drew the sketch on a sheet of paper with soft charcoals. That way I wouldn't have to bring him down with my strokes.
With every stroke I begged his sleep to last a little longer. I knew that if he was awake he wouldn't let me draw him. I'd already tried and he caught me. He said that I shouldn't waste materials drawing hideous things.
And I wasn't about to argue. I knew him better than anyone else did, even though I'd only talked to him a day. I knew that talking would do nothing. I had to finish a whole painting before I could attempt to convince him. Then after he'd seen the finished product, all I had to do would be to show it to him. Then he would agree that he did look beautiful, but only because I'd fixed it up, when it was in fact all him.
By now you are probably thinking, "well, if he thinks you fixed him, then he doesn't really think he is beautiful, now does he?" You are right. Sort of. After a few of those paintings, he will start to doubt his original view of himself, until finally, he realises he is immaculata.
And how do I know? Because we're exactly the same. Except I'd known myself longer than he did, which actually means he doesn't know himself completely. I think that this is why I love him already. As I said earlier, everything else just amounts to detail. But you can't truly love someone until you can get their essence.
20 minutes into my drawing I had managed to form a rough sketch, beginning to fill in minor details. Even though I hadn't slept all night, waiting to catch Matt in the perfect pose, I was more alive than I had ever been. Sounds obsessive, but all true artists are. Not that I believe myself to be one. It just makes me feel better when I can find these parallels between them and I. It's a sort of assurance that I'm stepping in the right direction.
I took the sheet and put it in between the pages of my black journal. I didn't write anything in it, I just kept it to hide my drawing whenever I went to cafe's sot that people wouldn't realised I was drawing them. I even taught myself to draw in short, closely-spaced bursts to imitate a writing motion. I saw how the curtains and the street lights created a shadow over his face and felt compelled to draw him again. But I stopped myself, as I had invaded his privacy enough.
Instead, I did so again by giving him a soft kiss on the nose. I loved his nose dearly. I don't think I've ever longed for plastic surgery more in my life than I did at that moment. Thanks for sleeping long enough to draw you, love.
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:Matt:
"Matt, are you sure you want to do this?"
I looked down at my hands, shaking, untying the knot that held my robe closed. I released them and off it came. I stood there, naked, wondering if I was doing the right thing.
And I saw how his hands shook as he attempted to draw me on the canvas. He couldn't take it. It was a pain I knew all too well.
I shut my eyes tightly, with misery over my inability to love him. This nude was the only way that I could give myself to him. It had not been left up to me to control my body. I wouldn't and couldn't give Alex my body. It was already Dom's; he simply refused to take it.
Alex stopped drawing on his canvas as he stared into it. I began to wrap my arms against my body. It was so thin and there was nothing special about it. How could I expect Dom to receive it when I myself was repulsed by it? I took a tube of black paint and began to spread it over myself. Maybe it would hide my ugliness.
"No! Matt! Stop. Why are you doing this to yourself?"
I broke down as I felt his arms around me. I had fought this feeling so intensely, concentrating my whole body's energy, to stop myself from crying. From being the weakling I had been from the beginning. But my attempts had been futile.
"Don't touch me. I'm dirty and gross. I'll defile your clothing."
I tried to squirm my way out of his arms but I couldn't escape. I hit him violently, moving my body so quickly and forcefully that I began lose my breath and stopped. I let out a groan of pain and impotence.
"Stop. Let me go. I'm covered in paint and tears and ugliness. It's getting all over your shirt."
"I love ink and tears. It's what makes my art. And you're beautiful. And I love you."
He pulled me closer and began to cry with me. I wanted to stop my pain. Our pain. I wanted everything to go back as it had been before the stormy night.
And I cursed myself. It had been my fault. All of this was my fault.