"Don't fidget so much Celeste, I'm almost done," Roy muttered as he painted the last few strokes of the portrait.
"You've been saying this for a week now Roy! And you won't even let me see the painting!" I whined.
He flashed me an amused smile, obviously enjoying the fact that I was that desperate to see his work.
"Not funny," I growled.
"You're lying aren't you?" I asked, with an eyebrow raised.
"Nope, come here and tell me what you think."
Before he could even finish his sentence, I jumped up and ran across his room, towards where he was. Skidding on my shoes, I turned around to face the painting and gasped. This was me...but at the same time it wasn't me. I wasn't the girl in the painting because he made everything about her look beautiful. And in reality, she's just...just...
"Perfect." I turned around to face him. "This is perfect but how did you make me look like...like...that?"
He laughed, his eyes sparkling. "It's not the beauty of the paintbrush's strokes that make you that way, you behold the beauty that you see."
I blinked unbelievably. "You know you sound like a modern day Shakespeare some times."
Roy grinned at me as he folded his arms across his chest. "I do."
"So erm...can I take this?"
His grin widened more. "No way! I'm keeping this!"
"No fair! I have the right to take it since it's me in the painting!" I argued, stepping closer to him.
"Well I'm the one who painted this so I have a right to keep it," he argued back, smirking at me.
I pushed him lightly as he laughed. "You're so full of yourself, you know that?"
"Okay, jokes aside, tell me what you really think about it." He inspects my face while I stared back at him. And with all the honesty I could project on my face, I said, "I really think that you made me look more like an angel then I am in reality."
His face softened when he heard this and he moved closer to me, stroking the side of my face with one hand.
"What makes you think that?"
"She's perfection and I'm just...just myself. It just doesn't add up."
"It doesn't have to. Celeste, no one knows you better then yourself and only what you think of yourself matters. No one else's opinions does. But to me, you're all that."
Is that really what he sees when he looks at me? I closed my eyes with a sigh and pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration.
“Having these kinds of talks with you gives me a headache.”
He laughed silently at what I’d said but I knew he was waiting for me to say something related to what we’d been discussing.
“If I were to tell you that what I see of myself is really different from the painting, what would you say?”
“I’d tell you look deeper inside of you.”
“Are you implying that you think I really am like the girl in the painting?”
“No, I’m not. I’m saying that it takes a longer time to find the truth then you think it does. It takes a lot of soul-searching to do within yourself. And right now, you’re having the wrong image of you in your mind.”
“So you want me to have an epiphany?” I smirked at him, amused. But he didn’t smile back.
“No, I want you to have not decided the beauty you have unless you really know.”
We stayed in silence for a few minutes, just gazing at each other, him on one side of his room, and me on the other. Then he sighed halfheartedly and crossed the room till he was standing right in front of me.
“How will I ever make you understand how perfect you are?”
I shrugged. “You can’t.”
And then he kissed me.