I huff a breath, crossing my arms, staring at the blank white rectangle like it personally offended me.
“What’s wrong?” Brennan comes up from behind, wrapping his arms around my waist. Leaning into his hold again, I sigh.
“I don’t know.” I glance at the paints again. “Something is missing.”
“Like…a specific kind of paint brush…?”
I shake my head. “No, I mean…” A huff leaves me. “I don’t even know what I mean. I feel like Iwantto paint…but I might be…scared.”
“Why would you be scared, Song Bird?”
“I don’t know…” Frowning, I stare harder at the canvas. “Every time I’ve painted before this…it wasn’t just because I wanted to. First, it was because my grandfather wanted to see what I could do. Then, it was because I had to earn money to escape my parents. Then, Teddy set it up for our date, but…”
“I think you’re thinking too hard about it.” His chin rests on my shoulder. “What about some music? That’s what I put on whenever I—um, whenever I do anything creative.”
I shake my head again. “I’ve never painted to music before.” No, I’ve only painted in the lonely silence that used to envelop me like a glass cage.
“Here,” he takes a step back, pulling out his phone. A few clicks later, a song is coming out of the speakers.
Oh. I didn’t know that phones could play music.
My parents only ever let me listen to classical. Of course, I tried to look up other kinds online with my school desktop computer, but never got through more than a song or two before I was promptly shut down. When the sound of an electric guitar jumps into the song, something in my blood lights up, and I find myself moving my shouldersto the beat.
“I like this!” A feeling of lightness fills my chest, and I smile, turning to look up at him.
“Ethan says my taste in music is Emo, but he won’t be able to make fun of it now that you like it,” he grins at me.
I give in to the urge to close my eyes. The music has an upbeat rhythm, and I find myself bouncing on the balls of my feet.
Suddenly, my chest…it feels lighter. The notes and lyrics of the music do something to me, and my fingers itch to put the paint brush to the canvas.
I can’t help it—my eyes fly open as I nearly jump into his arms, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” I say quickly before scrambling back down and returning to my canvas.
Fuck the landscape, I’m painting something else.
My brush dips into the blue, and I’m not even sure what I’m painting, but my head bobs as I move the brush across the canvas. I’m lost to the music as song after song plays, each one speaking to my soul as lyrics about heartbreak, angst, love, and freedom pass through my ears.
At one point Brennan switches up the playlist to what he calls “punk-pop”, and I love it just as much. Refills of iced tea keep appearing on the small stool next to me, and I’m grateful to Brennan as he sits back and watches me work.
I don’t know why I was so afraid of losing my passion for art.
The brushstrokes can’t be contained as I switch to a finer brush, letting the small details and whimsey fly out of me,
Unfettered. Unrestrained. Unafraid.
How have I never realized how much I was holding back before?Whydid I hold back? Because I had to make something I knew would sell?
This piece though…I wouldn’t sell it for all the money in the world.
My chest heaves as I step back, staring at the canvas. It’s…beautiful.
A jagged bird cage, made of all sorts of different colors—the style is messy and nowhere near perfect.
But the door to the cage? It’s wide open, and there’s a dove, flying far, far away.
“Oh, Song Bird,” Brennan breathes. “It’s mesmerizing.”
I wipe the sweat from my forehead, my chest still heaving. The style is a little less polished than I would normally do, but there’s something entrancing about the imperfections. “I don’t want to sell this one.”
