The girl by the lake

His POV

Roses. That's all I can think of. Well that's expected. We're next to a rose bush by the lake. I'm a bit hidden behind it but I can get a clear view of her. She looks just like the first time I saw her.

Her hair is held up in a messy bun, stray strands gracing her cheeks. She tries to brush them away as she happily chews her sandwich but they fall stubbornly. With her headphones on and her laptop in front of her she nods happily at the screen, smiling broadly.

Her face is delicate, her big brown eyes fierce. I could drown in those those eyes and pray to never be saved. She's stunning. Her baggy shirt and joggers doesn't do justice to her figure.

Maybe it's the scent of roses. Maybe it's the crystal lake twinkling under the sunlight. I don't know why but this scene is mesmerising. I want to capture it and never let go.

I take out my drawing book and hastily set to work. I try my best to capture it but my pencil can't capture the light in her eyes when she smiles. It can't capture the dimple peeking out of her cheek. I pause my drawing and take a few pictures.

Oh God, she's so breathtaking. I go back to my drawing hoping to capture her long full lashes, her carefree demeanour, the curve of her full lips and so much more. I can't, I simply can't. It's not because I'm not good at drawing, trust me I am.

It's because she is not one which can be rushed. Every line. Every curve. Every shade. It deserves precision. A drawing might not be enough. No, I'm going to paint her.

I finish my task. Determination pulsing through my veins. It's takes a while but every second is worth it. She's my muse and I'm just lucky to have found her. I stare at the drawing when I'm done.

It's not as good as the real view but it'll have to do for now. I want to hold on to it but on second thought I decided to gift it to her. I search my bag and found a ribbon. On the back of the paper I write a little note; To my muse; One day it'll be a painting in a big art gallery.

Rolling it up I tie it neatly with the ribbon, finishing with a bow. As if on cue, she stands up making a call. Using the little distraction, I slip the drawing into her bag and leave.

This is my last time in that garden. Not by choice though. I wish I had more time. Even better, the courage to talk to her. Maybe I should have but I'm about to move halfway around the world.

'If it's meant to be, it'll be'. I console myself with those words. As I say farewell to my muse. The one who made me mute. Took all my words in exchange for a thousand feelings. Maybe we'll meet one day, maybe.

Thank you for reading ;)