jacket over his head, trying not to get drenched, although that would probably be impossible in that heavy rain. The cold wind was finding its way in through the thin glass from the window and I hugged myself. I finished my glass of water, made myself a cup of tea and headed back to my bed, putting the cup on my tiny bedside table. A rounded dark wooden little thing I’d bought at a flee market for two pounds. I thought it was a little charming and perfect for things like a cup of tea or to pop your mobile on.
Sliding back under the covers it felt warmer. I lay there for a while listening to the rain and wind outside. There was something soothing about it, and knowing I didn’t have to go out in it made it almost cosy. My eyes were drawn to the painting. I felt a longing after Peter that nearly hurt.
I got up slowly, not looking away from his face, and like a magnet I was drawn to the paint brushes by the canvas. I opened some tubes with colours and squeezed out some on a painting palette. Choosing small pencils I continued the piece. I didn’t want him to fade away, I thought that maybe if I finished it, that he would somehow be more real.
I added a small dimple to his right cheek. He was smiling just ever so slightly, his mouth barely open, his eyes warm and friendly. I saw the sky from my dreams in my mind and painted it a glorious blue in the background with a couple of soft clouds with just hints of pale pink and lilac colours touching the surface as if catching the colours of the rainbow.
I grabbed my cup of tea, took a sip and frowned. It had gone stone cold. I checked the clock and it read 13:26. No wonder my tea was cold. I had been lost in my painting,