Joseph Bassett
United States, Virginia, Hampton

Words:	2929
Access:	Public
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The Art of Love

Looking at the painting, it almost felt as if each stroke of color was painted on the canvas with me in mind. It was beautiful but tragic at the same time.      It was beautifully tragic.      It was me.     I didn’t fully comprehend the meaning of what was on the canvas, but that’s what made it beautiful in the first place - it didn’t have meaning. It was there just because it was there, no reason at all. There doesn’t need to be meaning behind something to know it’s there and what it’s for.     “Do you like it?”     “I love it.”     “You know there are more, right?”     “More what?”     “More paintings.”     “But, I like this one.”     She grabbed my hand and we started walking down the gallery, studying each painting as if they were somehow different from when they were propped against the living room wall. But, they were different, each and every painting was different. They always were. With every glance and study, something different is found each time, just like when I look at her.     It wasn't love at first sight, but honestly, it was quite the opposite - nothing more than the first sight of love - and every time I had the chance to stare into her eyes for even a moment, they were always different - every glance was a new chance for me to fall in love with her over again.      “What about this one?”     I looked at the painting, outlined by the dimmed glow of light and orange wall, “It’s beautiful".     “You say that about all of them.”     “Because they are all beautiful.”     She smiled. I smiled and got the chance of feeling her lips against mine again. It felt just like the way her paintings look -always beautiful.     “I need to go, Love. I have to spend some time with the potential customers,” she said before winking to me.     “Go make us some money,” I replied as winking.     She started to walk away, and before she entered the hated realm of being beyond my grasp, I grabbed her hand and pulled her towards me for a kiss.     The night was starting to age and the crowd was starting to dwindle. I, well I had eventually returned to that painting and was still staring at it. I was drawn to it and I couldn’t escape. I could see her in the corner of my eye. She was talking to someone. I didn’t know who it was but that didn’t matter. Being able to see the beauty she spilled on the canvas and the love of my life at the same time was all that mattered to me. With those two things in my line of vision, the world had absolutely no chance of becoming more beautiful.     As I started to fall into the world that filled the painting, I noticed movement in the corner of my eye. It was her. She took an almost undercover glance at me, as if trying to hide the fact she was looking, and did the one thing that had the ability to take the breath out of me. It felt like the world that filled the painting had waged war, and I was the first casualty.     This was a blood-soaked battle.       Why would she do such a thing? Why would she do it with me in the same room?! Why would she kiss another man?     I gave it my all to keep my composure. This is where my profession as a detective became useful. I could keep my composure under stress, and even if I couldn’t, I had to convince myself that I could. She couldn’t know I noticed, not until we were at home. I’m sure there was some good reason for this to happen.         I took another glance towards her out of the corner of my eye, and as my eyes started to go down the profile of the man, I noticed their hands were grasped together.     First they kiss and now they are holding hands? I had to do something, I had no choice. I quickly turned from the painting, being as noticeable as I could without suggesting I saw something. I didn’t look at them directly. I kept my focus along the art-lined wall and slowly focused my attention to them. Their hands were no longer together.     As walking up to her and the man that waged war in my beautifully tragic world, she turned her head to me and smiled. It was her normal smile. The one that filled me with the excitement of knowing she was mine. But, that excitement was gone now as seeing that smile spawned a thousand questions in my mind and a thousand more accusations and assumptions.     “This is my Husband, Chaz.”     “Hello, Chaz,” I said, avoiding to sound like a Dirty Harry impression.     Chaz nodded and turned towards my wife.     “I think I’m going to head home. Good work on the gallery. Great collection,” Chaz said.     She nodded.     I did nothing.     “Ciao. Give me a call.”     The enemy had left.     Why would she call him? Who is he? What do I not know?     “I’m a bit tired. Are you ready to head home?,” I asked without hinting anything.     “Sure. Wait in the car for me. I’ll be out soon.”     “How did you like the gallery?,” she asked me in her baby voice as rubbing her hands together and raising her shoulders while lowering her neck, in an almost spastic way. I loved it when she used her baby voice. But, right now, it just seemed to me as her way of adjusting herself to let her know she’s with me now, not Chaz.     “I think it was great,” I replied in a monotone voice.     She relaxed her shoulders, looked at me and said nothing. She knew something was wrong.         When we got home, she unlocked the door and walked in the house and I followed behind her.     “Who is Chaz,” I asked while following her, her back towards me.     She stopped for a moment and lowered her shoulders slightly.     “He’s just and old friend. I invited him to the gallery. He’s been wanting to see my work,” she said as walking towards the couch.     She took off her jacket, threw it on the couch and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of Merlot.     I knew she wasn’t telling me everything. I know body language. Apparently she forgot my profession.     “Why did you kiss him.”     “It was a friendly kiss,” she said while turning her head to look at me with an astonished look.     “Why were you holding hands?,” How many people do you give a ‘friendly kiss’!”     “Am I one of your suspects now! Are you interrogating me!”     “I’m the one asking the questions, not you!”     “Okay, detective!”     Maybe she didn't forget my profession.     “I want to know! I saw you look at me to make sure I wasn’t looking! I saw you kiss. It was the same kiss you give me!”     A tear ran down her face.     A tear ran down my face. She didn’t need to say a word. That one tear screamed a thousand words.     “Chaz is my ex. I’ve been seeing him.”     She gulped her wine.     “You’ve been seeing him!”     “We dated before I met you and....”     “And you dated him while we were together!,” I said interruptedly.     She paused and took a breath.     “Am I right!”     “Yes! You’re right! You’re absolutely right! I’ve was seeing him, but...”     “How could you do this to me! How?! I love you and you’ve been cheating on me!”     “I’m not anymore!”     “How do you think that’s supposed to matter now! It’s been done!”     “Tonight I told him I couldn’t do it anymore. That I loved you and that I needed to be with you. I don’t want him. You have to believe me!”     “Then why did you kiss him!”     “I didn’t lie to you. It was a friendly kiss. I told him it was over.”     “He told you to call him. Are you going to?”     “No, I’m not. I’m not going to talk to him again.”     “Why were you holding hands?”     “Because he grabbed mine. I didn’t refuse because he was upset.”     “So it’s worth coping with him to risk me seeing it?”     “It’s not like that at all!”     “Apparently it is! You’ve been cheating on me, you bitch!”     She started to sob uncontrollably and ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs to the bedroom. The door slammed shut and at that very moment the tears ran down my face.     I walked to the couch to think about what had happened and just thought. I sat there for hours, hoping that she wouldn’t come down. She didn’t.     I wiped away the tears from my face and walked up the stairs. I opened the door to the bedroom and she was curled up on the bed with her white, silk robe.     I sat next to her on the edge of the bed and looked at her face. Her makeup smeared around her eyes like black holes, the centers, her eyes, empty.     “I’m sorry. I do love you.”        “Then why did you do that?”     “I was stupid. I really don’t know.”     I sat there for a few minutes and we didn’t say anything.     “I love you too”, I said while looking at her, a tear streaming down my face.     “You do?,” she said while lifting her head off the bed to look at me, surprised.     “I do.”     “Why?”     “I love you because you are the only person that has the ability to give me emotion, whether it be bad or good. You are the only person that can upset me. The only person that can make me happy. The only person that can devastate me. Nobody has that ability, and for that, I love you. “     She kept her eyes on mine and said nothing.     “You are everything to me. I love you more than anything and I would die for you”, I continued.     She propped herself up and sat on the bed, facing me. She kissed me. I could feel her beauty despite the makeup covering her face. Even she had a way with making the streaming makeup look like a piece of art, her tears the brush. Each stream of mascara a washable map of where the tears once ran.     “You are the painting that I keep running back to study. Every time I look at you, something is different, and even within a masterpiece, there are minor mistakes. You’re the painting that I’m always drawn to, that always captures me. In this painting, my life is the world that engulfs me and you are the colors. Without your colors, my life would be empty. No matter what, I will always return to take one more glance and let our world take me over.”     “I love you,” she said.     “I love you.”     Beauty hit my lips again.

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