Chapter Text
Toni's hands laid restless, disturbed relentlessly by intrusive thoughts of his beloved. His bed not a comfortable haven anymore. But he couldn't leave, the ceiling served as a perfect canvas: the theater of mind describing the most beautiful scenes his heart could bear. He tiredly looked to the side, checking the alarm clock on the nightstand.
"23:34" It signalized, declaring the unslept hours the white Maltese had gone through.
The menacing threat of classes in the morning didn't help in quelling his mind, not that it mattered, as a dog had occupied it completely. A whimper fled his heart, the yearning compelled his body up and forward. His tired blinks searched for pencil and paper under the dim light of his cellphone's flashlight. And now he sits at his writing desk, the soft and frail wooden pencil stuck between his fingers. The paper in front of him so infinite, so void of life, illuminated by a lamp whose light was aggressive. The screams of his heart didn't move his stoic soul, who was daunted by the simple paper sheet. But it relented, it whispered words so softly only his fingers could understand. Then silence consumed him, his heart could've stopped, his lungs ceased, for they wouldn't dare interrupt it.
His hands danced so dearly, a calm waltz he could not understand. Meaningless curves and lines were made with the promise of greatness. Their connection so harmonious, a tale of lovers from oh so old. A love that formed life: The shape of someone known, but who? The dance went on, his hands yearned for a manic crescendo, but the pain of smearing paper with an eraser mark is ever so sharp. The shape received its marks: purposeful curves and dots that gave identity. His heart fluttered, mesmerized by what's to come: the fur pattern of a Goddess, the face of a nymph and the eyes of... Oh, her eyes!
He finally let go of the pencil, Its purpose complete. Heart and soul finally soothed. He caressed and crackled his fingers while he admired not only his work, but her. She looked at him with the friendliest eyes, smiling contently while holding a notebook against her chest using both her arms. The thought of coloring appeared, only to be dismissed after a quick look at the clock: "2:12". Not that it bothered him, his purplish pencils were overused anyway.