Galatea
"Are you sure?"
Jack smiles at her and nodded his head, "Absolutely. You're the perfect muse."
He took a deep breath and begun stroking the white canvas with his brush while his forehead creased in focus. Carefully sketching, trying not to imperfect the blessed smile on her lips and mindfully tracing the halos surrounding her. Colors and lines and curves came alive, and swirls into a beautiful art.
Jack never felt more in love with a painting before.
"So," she started, stretching her numbing arms for the lack of movement, "Where would you put that?"
He smiled, white teeth showing, "In front of my bed where I could see it in the morning after I wake up, and the last thing I see before I sleep. I could put this in the exhibit but I'm rather selfish."
She blushed and looked away, hiding a smile, slowly, creeping on her face.
And seeing her, right there in the flesh, that no artist can capture nor draw such splendor and beauty, made his heart thud in a fast rhythm.
She's a masterpiece, Jack thought, he felt thoroughly in love with her, and art should be celebrated and gazed upon to exclaim the sheer beauty of such divinity. She was the kiss of life from Aphrodite— a gift bestowed upon him.
What did he do to deserve her?
To deserve a living grace and all that is good?
