His Blue-Haired Boy

“I wanna sleep next to you but that’s all I wanna do right now.”

The moment the brush hit the blank canvas, the Artist vanished into a world of his own.
A world in which he and his lover lay under the starry sky without fear.
In which he could kiss those lips and hold him close without thinking of that iron fist.
An ideal world where they both were reunited and lived each day besides each other.

The Artist still remembers that day like it was yesterday,
a body bag with blue hair sticking through it.
He could see those haunting grey eyes devoid of any emotion and those beautiful dark lips curved up into a small smile.
The vivid image of his love haunts his very being.

For hours, he sat there mixing hue’s of blue.
Stroke after stroke the blank canvas came to life.
A loud sob echoed through the eerie silence.
The paintbrush dropped to the floor and the stool toppled over.
The Artist sank to the ground and through tear-filled eyes,
looked at his creation.

Among the bold brush strokes sat the face of the blue haired boy.
Shaggy blue hair framing his pale face and tear stains on his cheeks,
a familiar little smile and a distant look in those stormy grey eyes stared at the Artist.

The Artist stared at the canvas with tears running down his face and alcohol in his hand.
Memories of a happier time danced through his mind.
He sat there staring at the masterpiece for what seemed like hours until his eyes began to droop.
The last sight he could see was that of his love laughing in the meadow,

His blue-haired boy laughing in the meadow. 

 

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