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such a beauty as the 'pissarro gardens' was something unique to this part of the world: heavily inspired by the public gardens of the french and the english, it was no surprise that its popularity surged during the spring and summer months it was open for. though it was pretty much in the centre of town, not too far from the 'chopin', the difference in air quality would forever entice me to consume many an afternoon surrounded by the exotic plants.
the plethora of flower types releasing their own signature scents made my head spin as i allowed myself to become intoxicated by the sickly sweet roses, the musky dandelions and the sleepy lavender. my favourite spot of the whole garden was a metal bench almost ravaged with rust, overlooking a wild rose bush that had resisted many years of pruning; it grew untouched and dominated every other plant in the garden with the vibrant flowers it produced and the romantic connotations behind them.
today the sun was exceptionally strong as i approached the bench with my weighty art pad in hand; to my surprise, someone was already sat there, admiring the snapdragons growing in the dappled shade. did the roses not interest him?
thankfully, he was only taking up the end of the bench and so i sat at the other, unsheathing my art pencils from the leather pouch i always carried them in and, resting the sketchbook on my lap, started a rough sketch of the flowers in front of me. although usually modest, i do have to admit that my speciality was flowers and as the lead bloomed across the page, the stranger next to me was tantalised.
"you draw well," he exclaims, the lilt of another accent balancing on the tip of his tongue. my hand pauses momentarily and i turn to face him with a smile.
"thank you, you could say that roses are my virtue." he nods and smiles in response. in the light i can see how defined the curve of his rosy lips are. his eyebrows are strong yet sensitive and his eyes are puffy in an endearing way.
"don't the roses interest you?"
he blinks before shrugging.
"sure, but i think these flowers are much prettier." he points a graceful finger at the snapdragons he was admiring previously.
"do you mind if i draw you?"
"me?" a faint pink dusts his cheeks and i nod wordlessly, already gathering my things.
"i want to draw you from afar. don't take any notice of me and just keep admiring the flowers," i instruct, moving to settle on a newer bench a few metres opposite. already, bursts of blues and greens were appearing in my head as i sketched out a rough outline for my oils.
he admired the flowers until well into evening, where the sky blotted with indigo and golden hour fast washed over us; the gardens had thinned noticeably as the wind picked up and the night life erupted.
"excuse me, sir?" the stranger waves from the bench as i sketch my last flower. "i have to head home."
i hum and fold the cover back over my pad. "i've just finished, feel free to leave!" i turn my back to arrange my pencils back into their slots, yet i hear no receding footsteps. when i turn again, the stranger is hovering much closer and seems hesitant to ask me something.
"are you okay?"
"hmm? oh yes! i was just wondering if you wanted to have a drink with me. i know a nice bar called the 'chopin' and i was hoping you'd join me." my lips curve at the ends marginally as my fingers grip the edge of my pad.
"sure," i drawl out. "but i'm just going to finish gathering my stuff. you can go on ahead."
my assertive tone made it hard for him to argue so he turned his back and began to walk away, barely making it out of the gate.
