Blue, the Heart's True Color

They no longer believed in the thing they craved most. They craved what they needed, and needed what they craved. Each other. But they denied themselves the right to share with the other that reality. They even denied themselves the right to think about that truth for too long. 

She was never the same after finding those texts on his phone. He knows she found them. They never talked about it, but the way his demeanor went from the suave, knowledgeable, and competitive man she fell in love with to the silent, stoic walking statue he had morphed into; he knows. The way he falls into the bed, defeated in grief, behind their closed master bedroom door after he mumbles, “I’m gonna turn in”, to her in her paint studio. Secretly, he yearns for the beautiful blonde with the messy bun to twist in her chair and speak tenderly to him as she once did. He wants it, he needs it. But he gave his mind permission to control and intimidate his heart. His heart’s desire became bound, its voice muzzled, and instead he would create a mantra of “I’m fine. She’s just in a mood. I’m fine without her, I don’t need her.”

She hears his footsteps trail off as his presence leaves her studio. Her lip quivers. He didn’t fight for her. She clears her throat and straightens her back, trying to remove that lump in her throat that seemed to make a permanent residence there. She would make the daily decision to stop crying over and over again. She dipped her brush in the dirty water, and into the deep, dark blue paint. Unbeknownst to her, her heart sympathized with the dirty water, feeling heavy and used, and her soul felt deep, dark, and blue. The paint brush pulled the blue color down the cheek of the woman on the canvas.

He sinks in the bed, once again ending the night alone, wishing to have her at his side, the warmth of her body and spirit. She lets out an exhale in that old stool, once again feeling abandoned, left to fight life alone. Looking at the ceiling in the dimly lit room, his mind replayed all the times she could light up a crowded room; everyone captivated by her smile. His favorite moments were accompanied by those two special dimples appearing on the upper right corner of her mouth when she would flirtatiously smirk at him, just him. His treasured memories of her taking the visions and hopes of others, and manifesting them before everyone’s eyes, whether it be on a canvas or reality. He admired her for never being stuck on the logistics like he, but seeing the potential and the best in others. But all that was stripped. It seemed life itself was stripped from her: her body, her soul, her spirit. The once golden haired, radiant woman, turned to a dull, coarse, ash blonde.

The old metal stool squeaked as it turned to her request. She grabbed the dirty water and the palette that was streaked with colors. As she headed towards the door, she paused by the wall adjacent to it, looking up at it. There hung a realistic painting of him, lines powerfully forming the most accurate depiction of his strong, steady, searching gaze. The highlights and shadows in those irises revealed his deep well of intelligence and understanding. Her eyes peered into his. The lump in her throat grew as she knew the only time she could catch his gaze was here with the unblinking eyes on the wall. She looked to the right of the eyes on the wall, to the framed letter. The letter expertly written to recount thoughts over her first art piece. The letter voiced how exquisitely the painter spent tedious hours studying the person of inspiration, how her attention to detail in the lines regarding the chest and hips portion of the model was a little “too keen” the author of letter playfully claimed. All written in his beautifully pristine handwriting. Her mind reminisced the moment she received the treasured letter days following being extolled and written about in the local paper because of the attention the painting earned. She remembered his smile shining upon her, and she felt herself warm from the inside out. How she longed for that gaze to be upon her once more, and to captivate that smile that beamed sunshine in her heart. But the skies of his love and admiration have been overcast with shadows for some time now. His smile had shone upon another woman. Her gaze flicked back from the letter to the drawn eyes, hoping to captivate them anew. 

She partly blamed herself, one too many late nights at art showings and one too many weeks traveling in hopes of gaining new network connections. Now she had lost the only connection she wanted, no needed. But she, clearing her throat once more, pushed that need down. She didn’t need love, she could paint love. She didn’t need him, she could bring her wildest dreams to life. But as she turned off the light to the studio, even her wildest dreams seemed hollow somehow.

He was long asleep by the time she showered and opened the door to the dark room. She snuck into the covers, facing away from him. They shared a bed, but no longer shared a marriage. The rings stayed, but the love they had misplaced and could not find. Their hearts craved each other’s touch and intimacy, but their minds silenced this need violently. She never knew that his pillow case was as wet with tears as hers. She had taught herself to leak hers secretly as she lay there, begging sleep to steal her away from this man she thought no longer loved her. 

And he would wake up the next morning, staring at her as she peacefully slept, wondering how she could live in such bliss while he lay with his shattered soul, longing to be one with her once more. He thought seeing her in this content-filled state rightfully punished him for what he’d done. One lonely night after bearing his heart’s needs to her across country only to have it rejected and isolated once again, he made a mistake that cost him his everything: her. He deserved to see her doing fine each morning while he started his with this dull but ever-present pain in his gut. His heart screamed it needed her, but, again, his mind rebuked it. He left the room, starting his day in the normal routine they had recently created, his mind alienating his heart’s need for her. And she would wake up and do the same.