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I didn’t grow up in a perfect home. My father never told me he loved me, I never even knew my mother and I didn’t have a lot of friends. As I grew older, I found a great way to escape this world was alcohol, but when I was a wee boy and alcohol wasn’t so easy to obtain, I used other means to escape the world. I used to draw a lot, I find a great comfort in art.
It all started when one day I found an article in this magazine about Freida Kahlo. You see, she was a very unfortunate woman in life, controlled by her illnesses. And despite everything that challenged her in life, she found a new way to battle it by doing art. That inspired me to start doing art more seriously myself. As I grew older, I found out more and more of the history’s best artists were children from broken homes. My favorite painter ever is definitely Michelangelo Buonarroti, I loved his attention to detail.
Many years have passed since I started following art, and many years have passed since I last seen that disgrace of the father. I have even become a somewhat decent of an artist now, too. My paintings got a lot better, and I still find joy in doing it. I regret not ever going to the art school and trying my luck with actually making it in the industry. Instead, I choose military, and they treated me like a sack of balls. Regardless, I am still glad I am able to continue finding solitude within my own creation. Huh, poetic.
Right now, I am finishing my latest piece. As I am pulling my last lines onto the canvas, I am thinking of this all, and most importantly, I am thinking of who this painting is meant to. It’s for my dear boyfriend Troy. As I pulled my last line on the canvas, I moved back several steps from the canvas, and looked at it from a distance. I smiled, looking at it brought me so much joy, I couldn’t wait to show it to him. I texted him half an hour ago to come by, so here should be here any minute to see it. To keep it a surprised, I took a silk cover I had, and placed it over the canvas painting.
At that moment, I heard the elevator door open up, and saw my man walk into the penthouse. It was My Love, carrying the Freckle Bitch’s bag with him inside.
“Hey, gotcha some Freckle Bitch’s for our lunch. The Twins and Big Swallow, just like you like it.” He said
I walked up towards him “What about fries?”
“We always share Fat Fags together.”
I chucked at his comment, and with care touched his chin and gave him a small peck on the lips “I love you…”
He grinned like a fool, but in his attempt to play it off smooth, he replied “I know…” After a short pause, he continued his sentence “So, we gonna eat or what?”
“In a second. I have a present for you first.”
“Oh?” He said, he didn’t expect a present so close after we reunited.
I took the food from his hand and set it to a counter next to the entrance, and then showed Troy the way to my art room. The room was filled with the paintings I painted, but that right now wasn’t important part. I turned him around to face the portrait, and then went up to it to uncover it. “Are you ready?” I asked and didn’t even wait for the response before uncovering it. As soon as his eyes saw it, they had this special, glowing spark in them. His face was awed, as his jaw dropped to it.
“It’s-“
“Yup.” I interrupted him “Our first night together. After our first kiss.” I pointed at the two smudges on the canvas “See these two smudges? Those are us, eating hotdogs and watching the moon at the Mission Beach. It was our first date, the night of our first kiss and…” I paused, grinning all the time I was explained. I was fascinated by seeing joy on his face. “And the night I realized… I can be loved.”
“Honey… It’s beautiful…” He approached me, and gave me a hug. His eyes started getting teary. It was clear to me then, that he also never experienced true love. My eyes started tearing up too. “God… you’ve made me cry.”
“You made me cry!” Zackery wiped away his tears, and chuckled “We’re just two broken men crying over finding each other. We’re such losers.”
“Yea, but…” He gave me a kiss on the lips. “You’re my loser.”