I have to start painting something other than him. If only as a ruse to use as a decoy for my obsession of him, I must capture other objects.

I began to walk through my village with a different view. I now view everything through a lens of beauty.

Even the black, basalt stone that our house is  constructed with is at risk for interpretation through my brush.

The day I happen upon the lilly flower in the pond I am ecstatic. I rush back to my house and grab a canvas, paints and a brush.

The purple petals emerge from the pad as if they are royalty amongst flowers. The striking shade of yellow in the middle make my insides flutter with joy. What beauty is before me!

I feel as if God has opened up my heart through this silly brush, I grasp so desperately, to a world which I have not seen.

Tenderly I dip the hairs of my brush into the colored oils seeking to recreate God’s magnificent beauty.

I am lost in the moment as the moment travels forcefully to become an hour. The sun is setting in the West as I finish the last of what looks like porcupine quills surrounding the yellow center.

My back is hurting from the frozen posture that I have entertained throughout the afternoon. I lay my canvas down and get up to stretch, brushing the hair out of my eyes and allow my eyes to wander.

They didn’t wander long. My love was gazing at me from across the pond. Our eyes locked as the sun slid down the sky. He flashed me an amused look and spun on his heels, walking away.

He had a sack over his shoulder and he was walking away from our village, not towards it.

My first impulse was to dash after him. I would beg him to take me with him. If that didn’t work, I would forbid him from taking even one more step away from me.

How did I get to be this way?

It didn’t feel like love, it felt like fear. If I loved him I would not be trying to cage him.

There is something wrong with the way I love. I must talk with God about that this evening.