LinesPosted: May 21, 2016
He liked her lines.
When they were in bed together, in the mornings between waking and leaving the bed, He would trace Her lines with His finger. Her shoulder, Her neck, Her forehead. The path from shoulder to waist to hips.
Across the table He enjoyed tracing Her lines with His eyes. It gave him joy to observe the gentle curve of her jaw, the long lines of her legs.
He wanted to draw Her.
He had been practicing for some months sketching off and on, but His skill was far from adequate to capture the powerful emotions that Her lines evoked in Him.
She was travelling for the next week. He took the time apart to revisit His art.
His attempts today were once again poor, but there was still a joy in it. As He drew each line, lines His finger had traced hundreds of times, He could feel Her in the pencil. Imperfect, but perfect for today.