6.
7.22.11
Hazelnut Cream
DominiqueLorcan
crystalline, spray, pastel
Lorcan was a work of art, plain and simple, and if Dominique had any talent with a paintbrush then she would've tried painting him. He was a living collage of pastel colors—cream colored skin, light pink cheeks, hair in the soft brown tones of hazelnut. He had eyes that were a blue so crystalline that they seemed to have no end. She'd have to use some kind of spray paint to get those random specks of green in his clear blue pools that only appeared when he was in the sun, and then to capture the freckles that lightly dusted his nose. That would be the easy part.
The hard part would be capturing the way a dimple would occasionally make an appearance on the left side of his chin when he smiled, or the way he'd stare hard at the floor with one eyebrow raised when he listened to her speak. It would be more than a little difficult to get that crease in between his eyes right, the one that popped up when he frowned, and the way his eyes got really small when he grinned. That would be hard.
But Dominique knew that a painting couldn't ever capture the way he made her smile without saying anything, or the way his laugh raised goosebumps on her arms. A painting couldn't get those glances they shared when words couldn't be said and the way he made her burn like an open flame with just one touch. And maybe she was just saying this because she couldn't paint but even if she could, she wouldn't want to paint Lorcan because he was a work of art and this work of art belonged in her head, where she could take him out and just stare whenever she wanted.