The Painting

Silvyr added a bit of oil to his paints to lighten the colour. He closed his eyes to try to remember.

He was painting their mother’s garden, from memory. He worried he had the flower’s colours wrong, but Seraphim may have forgotten as well. Silvyr’s amethyst eyes scanned the picture, checking for inconsistencies with his memory.

Silvyr remembered that the roses were red when Seraphim left. He didn’t want to make them red this time. Even though they were together now, he hated any thoughts of Seraphim leaving. He didn’t want a different body laying beside him at night. He only wanted Seraphim, and their best time together for companion was before he left.

In their mother’s garden.

He was painting the picture because tomorrow was another anniversary of his leaving. Silyvr wouldn’t exactly call Seraphim sentimental, and even Silvyr would rather celebrate the time when they reunited, but it just felt right this time.

He highlighted the flowers on the bench. The bench Silvyr and Seraphim would sit on together, talking about the clouds and what they looked like. The clouds looked great in the picture, he wouldn’t have to touch them. He even had one that looked a bit like a whale, which is what he said one looked like once, but Seraphim argued with him about it.

What had Seraphim thought the cloud looked like?

He hesitated, trying to remember. It was on the edge of his mind, but it must have been too far out for him to remember. The present was what mattered. He finished by adding extra touches yellow to the grass, to layer it better into the picture.

Silvyr pressed away the memories of Seraphim leaving again. He remembered clinging to his mother, crying, but no one could replace Seraphim’s place.

He took a step back to look at the painting in extra light. He closed his eyes and remembered the smells in the garden. He remembered what Seraphim smelt like now versus then. He remembered the changes in Seraphim’s hands, the darkness behind his eyes.

Frowning, Silvyr left the room with the painting. Maybe a painting wasn’t appropriate. Maybe the past only held them back, but the past also tied them together. They were twined together like the flowers in their mother’s garden.

Silvyr knew he’d give Seraphim the painting, but he’d give it to him tomorrow. Today, he’d find Seraphim and talk to them like it was every other day.

Today was for the present.





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This commission is for Silvyen of Gaia Online.
The original characters in this commission belong to their owners.