*Harper*
The apartment in Mineesota is quiet except for the rhythmic strokes of my brush against the canvas. There’s a kind of peace in painting, something about the way colors blend together, the way shapes emerge from nothing, the way my hands move without me having to think. It’s one of the few things in my life that feels truly simple.
Except today, my mind refuses to be quiet. I keep thinking about Scott and his stronger-than-expected feelings,and the fact that I can’t stop thinking about him.
I dip my brush into the deep crimson paint, swirling it onto the canvas with long, sweeping strokes. I tell myself I’m just painting shadows, but I know the truth. I’m painting Scott’s lips, the color they turn when he kisses me, when he really kisses me.
I press my lips together, remember
