I have heard it said that one never knows the value of something until it is lost.

I have lost everything that I once loved during the past twelve years.

Before the bleeding started I was at the pinnacle of the universe.

I was beautiful, well respected and in love.

I still remember the day my love caught my eye as he walked past my house.

He gave me a look which stole my breath and sent my heart on a wild race.

My heart still skips a beat when I remember that day.

He was more than handsome, he was exquisite.

I had to capture his face somehow. It was the first time I considered painting.

It was a desire which became a passion. Some said it had become my obsession.

I tried sketching him first, my fingers became blackened with charcoal. My mother fussed at me for soiling everything with charcoal. I giggled at her. He was worth the soiling.

I don’t know if he knew I existed. Every day when he walked past my father’s house I would stare at him, hiding my intense gaze behind trees, bushes, and the crevices of our stone house.

I would pick a new angle daily, searching to immortalize this man. God he was beautiful.

Then one day it happened. He approached my father regarding a business proposal. I hid behind a curtain but gazed at him in secret for the span of a whole sunset.

The next time he came to visit, I felt him before I saw him. I was at the wash basin washing vegetables for dinner.

I didn’t hear his steps but I knew it was him. My body felt him. I heard his breath slowly, sensually, slithering in and out between his pearly white teeth.

I wiped my hands on a cloth and turned around, stunned at his close proximity to my chest. He was so close every cell in my body tingled with excitement.

His eyes crinkled into a sensual grin and he enquired about the presence of my father.

I couldn’t speak. My breath had left me again. I merely pointed like a deaf and mute child to the bedroom and after a moment whispered,”napping.”

“I will come back,” he softly spoke.

“Please do,” I whispered, locking the gaze of his eyes into the memory of my mind.

His hand caressed my face and he turned, striding with long and dignified steps to the door.

I absorbed every nuance in his gait. I etched every wisp of his curly black hair in my mind. I memorized the slight curve of his shoulders.

I suspect he left that day with two hearts beating in his chest because mine was racing to become one with his.

As soon as he was gone I catapulted out of my house. I ran into the street like a mad woman. I began screaming,”Paint, I need paint! Who sells paint?”

I started painting that day. My painting continued through the night by the light of an oil lamp. I finished my first portrait of him as the sun broke through the eastern sky.

I swear the likeness was so remarkable I could see the portrait breathing.