Nova

26- inspiration

Nova:

My eyes open slowly with exhaustion, taking in the golden stretch of afternoon sun sprawled across the roof.

My body aches with a satisfied pleasure, still coated in sweat from the past hour.

Was sex always that good?

I pull Max's shirt over my bare body, willing my stiff muscles to cooperate

"Where are you going?" His gruff voice asks, my body responding instantly to the sound. What has this man done to me?

"To get the soup so it doesn't burn down my apartment" I explain,

"Just turn it off and come back to bed" he groans again and I sigh

"As much as I'd like to, I have Uni work to do" I argue. I haven't had much progress with my artwork in the past few weeks

I'd kill to spend the day in his arms, wrapped up in my blankets. The sound of the children in the park lulling us to sleep, not needing to say or do anything, just enjoying each other's company.

I wander into the kitchen, still on cloud nine as I head to the stove to see it already turned off. I must've forgotten to start it after getting distracted by my chocolate.

Oh my chocolate! I grab the forgotten bar out of the bag, nibbling on it as I make my way back to my room to put on some painting clothes.

I don't plan on leaving the house for the rest of the day so I swap out Max's shirt for an old bralette and my dirty overalls that are two sizes too big.

A gift from my mum who thought it'd be aesthetically pleasing to paint in. She's right of course. She always is, but I'll never admit it to her.

I grab my barely started canvas, setting up my assortments of paints around it. I coat my brush in a generous amount of yellow, holding the brush mere inches from the canvas as I try to will some sort of inspiration to occur.

Unfortunately, much like the last few weeks, nothing comes to mind. It's like I'm stuck and it feels awful.

Art and creating is something I've been doing since I could walk, finger painting with my mash and drawing on everything I could get my hands on, it has always been a way to express myself when words didn't do justice.

But now, sitting here staring at the canvas, the brush feels foreign between my fingers as my mind draws blank over and over.

I throw the brush into the water, groaning in annoyance, as the due date creeps closer.

Everyone else in my class has practically finished their piece, but for some reason I cannot bring myself to paint for the life of me.

Why is this so difficult? I feel helpless being unable to do something I've been doing my whole life.

Frustrated tears form, threatening to stain my cheeks.

"What's wrong?" Max asks from behind me, the tears fall instantly, my exhaustion and stress finally catching up.

"Everything" I groan, hating how stupid I feel.

Poor Max looks extremely uncomfortable at the sight of me crying, his head whips around the room, mouth opening and closing several times unsure of what to say.

a few seconds later he wordlessly walks over to me, scooping me up and positioning us so I'm sitting curled in his lap.

"Let it out" he whispers, holding me firmly. And I do just that, I stop holding in the tears, letting them fall freely.