If nothing is true, what more can I do?
I am still painting flowers for you...
Curse those crystal blue orbs.
They always reminded him of his childhood sweetheart, the one who had kissed him and then left for war. He had told him, promised him that he'll be back for him, but until now, he still haven't. Was it all a lie? If so, then does that mean that he had waited for nothing?
"Stop it Feliciano... You're bringing back memories you've sworn to forget. Just go on with your life. He's never coming back and you know it. Forget about him already..." he whispered to himself, trying to calm his ragged breathing and racing heart down.
But, how can I when I keep seeing him?
Shaking, the brunette brought the covers closer to his barely clothed body, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around it. He buried his face into his knees and let the tears flow. He trembled, trying to keep his sobs muffled. Ludwig was in the other room, and though he wanted someone's comfort right now, he didn't really want to bother anyone.
Soon, Feliciano forced his ragged breathing to even out, and he choked back sobs that was trying to be let out. He needed to stay strong, and he didn't want the others to think of him like a crybaby. Oh who was he kidding? They always think of him like that. This thought brought a new wave of emotions to slam into his already fast-beating heart. No. He must not think of such things.
Forcing his limbs to move, he stood up and stretched, his eyes wandering over to the clock perched above the doorway. It's arms told him that it was still early, approximately 2:30 in the morning, but Feliciano was already awake. He wasn't going to sleep any time soon, and he knew it. So instead, he quietly slipped out of the room and into the living room, where his easel was. On it was a large square canvas, with a half-done sketch of a flower garden.
Shaking his head, the Italian made his way to the kitchen, his throat feeling very dry and uncomfortable. He opened the fridge and pulled out a pitcher filled to the brim with cold water, and very eagerly poured some of it in a clear glass. Wasting no time, he brought the glass to his lips and greedily gulped the water down. In his haste, he underestimated the things that the dark room was hiding, and he brought his hand down pretty hard on the counter. He felt a sharp pain on his pointer finger and he yelped, putting down the empty glass and opened the lights.
Tsk. His finger was bleeding, and it looked like he had accidentally brought it down on a kitchen knife. Tears filling his eyes again, he attempted to wipe it on his shirt, but it only managed to turn some parts of it from white to red, and he sighed again, bringing the finger to his lips and sucking on it. The metallic taste and scent of blood dulled his senses, and he grimaced before removing the finger and inspecting it. It was still bleeding, but not as heavily as before. He walked back to the living room, sitting down in front of the easle and deciding to finish it. His wound was left unbandaged, simply because he didn't know where the first aid kit was, and had always relied on Ludwig to bandage him. Pathetic.
He sighed again and picked a pencil up, almost immediately going to work. His dream kept the ideas coming, and he added small details here and there, until he came to the point where he drew in two children facing each other. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped and tears blurred his vision once again. Gritting his teeth, he blinked them away and continued until he finished the sketch. Satisfied, he leaned back and smiled. It was perfect.
He now picked up his brush and palette, squirting paint in a variety of colors on it before he sat up straight and let his imagination flow. He had the dream about 25 minutes ago, but the picture was as vivid as a memory. Maybe it was. His hand flew across the canvas in perfect pressure and precision, adding shadows and shadings when necessary. The painting seemed to gain some life as his hand danced across the surface, mixing colors and varying them.
Soon, the flowers in the garden had been colored, the sky glowed a peaceful blue, and the sun seemingly shone on the painting. All that's left now is the two children facing each other. Smiling fondly, he dipped his brush in black paint and began coloring in the robes of the child on the right, his strokes magical.
This continued on, until the whole painting had been finished. Picking up a pencil, he signed his signature on the bottom right corner, along with the date. He then stood up and wiped sweat off his forehead, slightly painting it a reddish color from his hands. He then stepped back and smiled satisfied.
The picture was of a simple flower garden, with two children facing each other. The two children was all too familiar to him, for the one on the left side was none other than himself. His usual mint-green dress fluttered in a fictional breeze, along with the petals of the flowers clutched in his hands, and the tears in his eyes. The other one was that of his first love, his black robe fluttering in the fictional breeze also, and a sad smile grazing his young face.
Overcome with emotion, Feliciano plopped down on the couch and lied down, his eyes swimming with tears. One lone tear dropped as he closed them, and before the darkness overtook him, a voice was heard.
"I promise..."