MAGIC ROMANCE AND DREAMS: THE FATE AND THE PAINTER

When I said it the last time we see you, sitting on the corner of the bed and never said anything. He looked blank, as if he had received the sad news of his life, the deepest, longest and worst of news, which was to make him miserable life. "But why?" He jumped into a place for him, "Why now? Why so?". Why hurry, you leave, you come, why not give him even a chance, why me, why him? Many questions that ought to be saving for us. But I feel that if even one second sitting around him, something was going to happen I would have regretted exceedingly sooner or later. I left, leaving him in the middle of the room with his questions which had not received a response. I left, not knowing if it was, indeed, the last time we saw.

Andrew had met long ago. He was a painter, a fairly known and appreciated, the new generation of artists, and come with an exhibition in the city where I lived. I had heard of the event and I really wanted to get to know him, because he was part of the artists that inspired me at the time.

Charismatic, visionary and very talented regularly watch his artistic development, which influenced my work and me. When I entered the exhibition hall, he was leaning against a marble column and row his paintings looked like he tried eyes, put his back frames. I studied in a corner from the entrance, without dare to enter into conversation with him, not knowing what to say first. I had seen many times on television, I had heard sometimes broadcasts on the radio, talking about his art, I admired him even studied his technique, we take the example of my own attempts to paint but never had had the chance to see him so close. I walked around the room looking at her paintings, studying them all carefully, trying to catch them beyond the subtleties of color. "I'd like to paint at a time, if you'll excuse me. I noticed how you come in. I think we should meet sooner or later," I heard suddenly a voice behind me . I turned and I saw his eyes, cold and gray, but I got to the heart. They included emotions and do not even know now, after all this time, what I said or even if I said something. I was shocked by addressing it directly. Nonchalance that amazed me was telling me so directly, all that stuff, I was just wonderful that I muse that he wanted, even for a single painting. I left my scarf slide off both shoulders and I joked, fitting us, and touch, and words. I pretended a little surprised by the courage I had, but I could not rejoice in myself, that I had chosen just me, of all the women present at the opening, and there were few who really deserves the attention of a man like him. We've separated all night, as if standing between us stories happened years and years. Laugh, debate various topics of interest, and, occasionally, after a break of a few minutes of silence, he told me the story of many a painting. Sometimes when sipped champagne, touched me gently on strands of hair, believing that not noticing, as if he wanted to paint even then, live. Besides he felt an incredible magnetism, which he never sensed him in the presence of any man. I was, myself, a budding artist, with barely finished Faculty of Arts, and he is one of the most successful artists of his generation. It was a combination of humor and mystery, classic beauty, male, strong hands that gently create. Tall, brown hair and penetrating eyes, he had a special smell of men's fragrance mixed with paint and oils, we feel quietly only when it touches.

I love him even then, that first night, but I oppose any bit, because I realized that it would be in vain.

My whole being felt floats. For the first time I conveyed my brain as I have no reason to hold the shields raised, I had no point in trying to pretend to be something or otherwise. It was a feeling of complete safety which provides me comfort especially mentally. I just got carried away, not knowing what will happen in my life. We parted at the end, with the promise of meeting again sometime, somewhere, without a precise target. Initially I thought it was a game that will last a few days, where we pretend that we ignore, and later to review and revisit everything from where we stopped. Even kiss me before I go. Suddenly on the run, before leaving without giving me the opportunity to oppose a kiss to us confirm that yes, we had to meet, sooner or later. I given my phone number, because I asked him, and now I was just waiting for her to call me. It's been long days, where I was just thinking to it, it's been nights when we paint from imagination. They have several situations going on the street when it seemed that I saw and I was very close to cry. There he called again. After a year, incidentally, unscheduled, we crossed paths on a railway platform. When I saw him coming on, I had the same feeling as our first match, coming out of nowhere same emotion, same incredible magnetism that time is not lost, but become even stronger. I had time to grab a coffee, waiting for our train, and we promised that if we meet a third time, all somewhere, sometime, incidentally, will be a clear sign that we are made for each other. I had the courage then to say I do not want to play, that I want him, beyond the paintings, genuine as it had shown me the first night. That no longer willing to wait another year thinking about it, and it's much easier to dial a phone number than wait for fate to do everything. He left, and I thought again that it will be a game that will last a few days. This time, I had asked me phone number, which had given me happy, so I was thinking that all things will become normal at a time, because if he had not had the courage to call or, if looked pure and simple, I'll do it. But I do not I called again.

After another year, I no longer had learned anything about him, had to participate in a group exhibition of painting in my city. Being an invitation to an artistic event, I thought several times that it is possible to reunite, there is even a small chance to see him again, I wanted to talk to him, and all the way I did was I am going to repeat the lines that would give them dialogues slightly funny, sometimes profound, which I had with me. We take into account all the variations in hand that would have occurred with a girl or wife, and I'm sorry if in a fit of pride I might have missed love of my life. There, in the end, looking for me to look across the room. He made his way through people coming up to me, took my hand and said, laughing: "Let's go!". We left without looking back, leaving behind everything, running on empty streets at the end of summer.

I woke up next to him in bed in his studio in a loft downtown. Wrapped in sheets, his skin felt warm hands, ready to devour me. He occasionally dip your fingers in paint and then next passing them over my body by painting me with kisses. After two years of waiting, the only fate helps us meet, and I was face to face. The same magnetism repetitions. Morning departure, while I was expecting

somewhat of a confirmation of what had happened between us, something that defines somehow our relationship, I heard from the mouth of the same words: can we meet somewhere, sometime, if fate will be our side. Disappointed by his attitude, I said then that it was the last time we meet. I left, leaving him in the middle of the room with his questions, which no longer had any sense. I left not knowing if it was, indeed, the last time we saw. I wanted from him more than a night of love than a coffee drink every year, I was sick so desperately seeking all figures foreign events and on the street, tired of waiting for the fuss, so many words that remain, every time, suspended between me and him. I went straight to the metro station, thinking I went home, I wanted to forget about artists, exhibitions, and to remain with my bohemian life and simple. After two hours, when there was very little and had to leave the house to visit my parents called me. With a soft voice, playful, he simply said: "Do not go. Not the other, but I still got you to paint."

We got married after only a month since I first entered his studio. Meanwhile, in recent years, we have become known both as artists, and had exhibitions worldwide. I learned with him that often, fate alone is not enough, because when you're given to meet the right person you have to fight, we have to struggle and you to move something, however small it be Your gesture, because only so big moves and things. Many years have passed since our first meeting, I stayed and now his muse, and he - love of my life, and I understand both, in the end, you and I should meet sooner or later.