I've never been good at conveying emotion. I've never been good at telling people how I feel about them, it just doesn't come naturally to me, which is why none of my relationships last longer than a few months. It is also the reason why when my first boyfriend told me he loved me I looked him in the eyes smiled at him and said rutabaga. It's also the reason why until last week I thought I was doomed to die alone. I've always loved art and have used it as a way to show the emotions I could never say, so when I got into a prestigious art school on partial scholarship I couldn't pass up the opportunity.
I was sat down at me easel preparing my charcoals when this guy walks in, and he is the most beautiful guy I have ever seen. He wasn't the traditional beauty, his hair was shaggy held together with the occasional stray hair clip, his smile was slightly crooked but still friendly and warm, his cheeks dimpled accompanying the goofy grin that was seemingly always plastered on his face, and his eyes… one was blue and the other green a birth defect, that perfected his entire look and radiated kindness when they looked at you.
When I saw him for the first time, I did what any rational human being would do. I knocked over all my paints and flusteredly reached down to pick them all up, but as I was rushing to clean up my mess a hand overlapped mine. It was almost twice as large as my small hand; it was strong and calloused from what I assume is many years of holding a paintbrush. I looked up only to find myself lost in his eyes: one green and one blue, looking up at me confused radiating concern, loose pieces of his hair falling from clips. For some reason I still cannot comprehend I started to silently weep. Maybe I was so in awe of his beauty, or maybe it had just been a long time since I had any physical contact with another human being. I don't know but giant crocodile tears streamed down my face. As I looked up at him through my tears I saw understanding in his eyes. He gave me one of his goofy kind smiles, reached into his back pocket and pulled out one of his paintbrushes and with the tip of his paintbrush, he soaked up one of my tears. The soft bristles tickled my skin and I couldn't help but smile through my tears.