Not eager to, he had wake up from the ray of the morning sun shining directly into his face; wishing to lengthen those brief half-awake instances that had shield his yet breezy body, begetting bliss within each cell. He stretched out, then sat on the bed, diffusing the remains of the sweet morning sleep. The sun rays would infiltrate his bedroom, piercing through a rushing (only God knows where to) cloudy bunch and, trespassing the dusty window glass, they’d dissipate into the creative mess of the room.
Usually, the autumn sun wasn’t warm, but the looming day promised clearance between the endless rainfalls of last week. He rose from the bed. Carefully dodging the misplaced belongings, he approached the window and looked down. The student town was asleep. The deadly desert maze of streets, the trimly cut lawns and central field, that divided several blocks of student’s residence housing were lonely-cold in the rays of the discreet autumn sun. He opened the window and the chill air burst into the bedroom, messing up the mislaid papers on the floor. Breathing in the freshness of the moist air he pondered about how wonderful life was, and a ticklish feeling in his chest made his heart stop. Once again he took a deep breath of the morning chilliness, closed the window, neared the easels that were nearby and keenly started to inspect the paintings.
One of them was done by all the rules with special attention paid to the little details, and it looked like it was almost finished, but he knew perfectly that this wasn’t true, and his gaze progressed to stumble upon the unfinished aspects and the mistakes.
The picture just got worse from his attempts to make it perfect. Sighing, he approached another easel… The fervency of the chromas surfaced on the painting from thick brush strokes, spreading throughout all the canvas wideness, the playful hues would assemble into vortexes as if they were trying to communicate a melody that played in the very soul of its creator. He smirked. Besides the clear flaws, the painting looked surprisingly whole and almost done. It was even already autographed. His smile broadened, clearly mesmerized by such soul jaunt delivery. Turning back he gazed at the distant bed by the corner of the room, then came closer and settled at the very edge, admiring the sleeping here happiness.
The crystal white sheets contrasted with a bit tanned skin, the black hair spread across the pillow forming wonderful patterns, as if asking of touching hands to be dived into the fluffy dark cloud, to inhale the aroma of the fresh bed dressing and to melt into the blessedness of the delightful night echoes.
He was sitting there, gazing and not being able to look away. His heart was overwhelmed with the warmth and love arising from somewhere in the deepness of his being and overcoming all of his body, streaming from the heart into the belly and then, throughout the hands, back to the heart. He was experiencing all the depth and feeling range that was once born and were now emerging in the shape of softness and bliss flows.
Could he wish for anything more? Could he want any other sort of happiness? Could he imagine he could drink it all, the profoundness of his feelings? He examined the face, trying to remember, to fixate this picture. He wanted to portray him by memory for a while. Examining the soaring eyebrows, sharply outlined cheekbones and the stubborn chin, he thought to himself: “Could you love a woman this way?…” He didn’t have an answer.
Derek was like a part of himself and he was a part of his life. Derek… with his beamy paintings, outrageous behave, perfect manners and constant quests for sense in everything. Derek… with his simultaneous eccentricity and spontaneity. Derek, who was his best friend and thought that drawing his soul from several angles and using several techniques was part of his life purpose while repeating: “It’s impossible not to love this… it’s impossible not to love you!”
He leaned over and kissed his brow. Derek opened his eyes – they still carried the print of his perfect dreamland.
– I am going for a walk. – He whispered – The day promises to be sunny. – He took his hand and slightly pressed the palm. – Keep sleeping.
He quickly clothed himself, grabbed his umbrella and entered the dreamy town, rejoicing in the emptiness of the humid streets, the morning silence and his happiness that was blooming deep on the inside. He thought he was able to lighten up the whole world, and that rainy cloudy world of the old England.