Her thoughts on canvas.

She's beautiful. She doesn't even know how beautiful she is. And not in the she-should-be-a-model kind of way but in the way that she just doesn't know it. I watch her. Her motions are not as fluid as one might expect from such an elongated and elegant frame. She looks like a ballerina but moves like a young fawn. I often wonder what she is thinking about when she is going through the motions of the day. While she is getting done the menial tasks that I know she would rather put off.

I never know what she is actually thinking. She is soft and quiet, private and a daydreamer. I can tell that her mind is always turned on, she is forever processing profound thoughts. Sometimes it's serious but sometimes it's just thinking about things like where black mold comes from and how it ends up in the back of your clean fridge. Or what the world would be like if whales were planes and birds were fish.

Her thoughts would be beautiful on canvas. I think there would be a lot of bright pinks and purples softened by muted blues and greens. There would no lines just a perfectly thought out mess of blurs and swirls and splotches of paint and drips of glue. If her thoughts were on canvas I would need to touch it. The texture would speak volumes about the landscape of her mind. I think it would be like spending the day in an exotic market where all the fabrics and fruit call out to you for your touch, like a new born baby flittering its small and delicate hands, blindly seeking out the touch of another human. Her thoughts probably even smell good. Like fresh basil and lavender with a splash of lemon. Exhilarating and soothing.