My favourite painting

Day after day I kept coming back. Sometimes I’d spend hours just standing there, other times I just ran through the door just before closing. No matter what, I’d always come back.

I reached the point of noticing the slightest of changes, so small I wondered if I was making it up in my mind. I had her memorized, every line, every shadow. I had her marked in my heart and mind.

Some days I still surprised myself with something new I’d discover about her, as if I had to wait for it to be revealed. Other days, I would just revise the things I already knew, relearning them and discovering that the more I looked, the more I understood and the more beautiful she became.

I stayed there, not caring about anything else in the room. Kids thought I was crazy, contemplating the same wall for so long. Teens would stay a bit, trying to understand what I was seeing, as if it were some kind of secret, you only understand after reaching a certain age. Adults barely paused, they glanced and continued, not comprehending why I would waste so much time in just a useless act.

I never paid much attention to all; I could read in all of them that they thought I was crazy. And to be completely honest, maybe I was.

But how else would you describe someone in love? ***

When I arrived at the museum that day, I noticed a small movement at the entrance. School trips. I thought. How wonderful.

I walked past them with a natural confidence you get by knowing the place like home. I was a local in that small world. I knew exactly how to get to whom I was there to see.

I was home. In my usual spot, standing in front of her I couldn’t be bothered by the real world, not even the noise coming from dozens of children could ruin what she made me feel.

I can’t really explain why I felt this way. I was lost back then, wandering through this same museum, trying to find something that would make me feel safe. I was new to this town, to this space and this new version of myself, and after I met her, all of that seemed easier to carry. Even if she didn’t feel the same, I didn’t feel so alone.

And, as I said, I can’t really explain why, but she made me feel a tornado of emotions for no apparent reason, and in the end, I didn’t look for one.

I was completely lost in my thoughts, admiring her, when a kid ran past me. I only acknowledged his presence when he almost fell right into her.

“Be careful!” I wasn’t sure if I was talking to the kid, or her. But something inside me became alert.

“Are you okay?” Once again, I wasn’t sure to whom the question was directed to. “Yes. I was running from my friend, and I tripped.”

“You shouldn’t run inside the museum. You could hit someone or something irreplaceable.”

“Like your painting?”

My painting? I wanted her to be mine.

“You’re just standing there looking at it. Is that even interesting?”

“It is. I think it’s the most beautiful thing ever created.”

“But it looks so sad. Wouldn’t you prefer to look at something happy?”

“No. Maybe one day you’ll understand kid. Sometimes you like something just because, even if it makes you sad or hurt.”

We looked at each other, then back at the wall. A quiet silence settled between us, and I could almost hear the gears turning inside his mind as he looked at her.

“Did it hurt when you fell?” He nodded. “But you still like running and playing with your friend, right?” Another nod. “Sometimes it’s like that. You get hurt while doing something you love.”

“But my knee still hurts, I don’t like that.” He looked at me like he was the one teaching me something now. “I only fell because my shoes weren’t tied, but now, they’ll be. I don’t want to fall again. I hate getting hurt because afterward I can’t play right.”

I stayed silent. Maybe he really had something to teach me after all.

I suddenly heard footsteps, his friends calling him to another room, but before he left, he just looked back and, with the most natural tone, said,

“Bye sir! Ah, don’t forget to tie your shoes!” ***

I heard him before I even saw him. Teenagers have this particular energy; you always know when they’re around.

“Wow, it’s really pretty.” He was talking to me, but his eyes never left her. “Yes. She is.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just stared at me with a confused frown growing between his eyebrows, and then, without another word, just left.

Weird, I thought. But then again, nothing is very normal when it comes to teenagers.

I sank again into my thoughts, wandering through the familiar voice of my own mind, when I heard him again.

“Look, dude, I have ask. Do you treat all paintings by her?”

“Just the special ones.” I didn’t even turn to him. At his age I also carried that sharp temper, having an opinion about everything and everyone. But on that day, I simply didn’t have the energy to explain to him anything.

“What makes this one so special though? Have you even looked at the others? There’s this one in room 3, so cool- “

“Look, dude, I don’t want to see the other, I like her.”

I finally turned to him. My face had written all over it to leave me alone, but he didn’t

care. Typical restless posture of teenagers.

“I’m not trying to mock you,” he said carefully, “but aren’t you putting a lot into just one

painting?”

“She’s special to me. I love her.”

“But isn’t that a bit...creepy? Just standing here staring?”

Creepy.

Something in me stiffened. That word made my heart sink a bit. Maybe I was a bit creepy. Just a presence she never asked for. And never wanted.

I looked back at the wall, this time with guilty and apologetic eyes that I wished she could read. I never wanted to be this burden, a daily reminder of someone she didn’t love back. I just wanted her to see how I felt.

But I wasn’t being seen at all.

Deep down I had this tiny hope that if I kept coming back, someday she would finally look back. Was I being selfish? That thought scared me.

“She never asked you to leave?”

“Of course not. It’s a painting.” I shot back. Short, fast, aggressive.

“She never asked you to stay either I presume.”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to say anything and risk admitting that he may be a tiny bit right.

“I get it, okay,” He started hesitantly. “Liking someone. I really do. But why are you purposely hurting yourself over someone who doesn’t answer back?”

“Because she never said no.”

“She never said yes either. Like you said, it’s a painting. It didn’t say anything at all!”

My words disappeared again. For a moment I wasn’t looking at a typical 17-years-old but at someone trying to make sense to love before love made sense to him.

“I’m not gonna push it anymore,” he said. “But you should look for someone who will actually look back.”

My chest tightened. I hadn’t asked for this conversation, and I definitely didn’t want to deal with the consequences of it.

“You should consider room 3...there’s a lot of cool stuff there.”

And with that final line, he just left, like he had never been there at all. But his words stayed, much longer that I wanted them to.

***

The museum was almost closing. I recognized that movement, the subtle choreography of the guards trying to gently move people towards the exit. They did it so discreetly that most visitors simply thought it was their own idea to leave. Only someone who never felt they had enough time with someone they love would see how obvious it was.

I stayed a bit longer, until I was the last one in the room, and with a final glance, I headed towards the large exit.

I was about to leave when I heard hurried footsteps behind me, it was one of the guides. I’ve been around long enough to recognize him.

“Leaving already?” he asked calmly.

“The museum is closing.” He looked genuinely surprised, as if he had no idea.

“In that case, can I offer you a drink? And maybe talk a bit. Afterwards we can go back to the room.”

It was such a strange offer that it immediately ignited a flame of curiosity inside me.

Why?

He didn’t wait for an answer, simply smiled, and began walking, confident I would follow. I did.

We stopped at his office, a part of the museum I had never seen before.

“Coffee or tea?” he asked, chuckling. “Unfortunately, I don’t have anything stronger.”

I was getting nervous. This situation felt unfamiliar, and I had the growing urge to ask him when we were going back to the room.

He served the tea and sat in a large chair near the window, leaving one free for me.

“I’ve seen you a lot around here.” He was studying me, and I didn’t like that. I wanted to ask what exactly he wanted from me.

“Yes,” I started, trying to stay indifferent. “There’s a lot to see, impossible to see everything at once.”

I didn’t want to reveal too much. I wanted to see her again, but I would wait until tomorrow, like always.

“Interesting answer,” His smile made me wonder how much he knew. “For someone who looks at the same painting every day.”

I fell silent. A strange confidence made me take the empty chair in front of him. I wanted to ask to go back to the room, but he was too focused watching something outside the window and I didn’t have courage to interrupt. He had this troubled expression that I later recognized when I looked at the mirror.

“We can’t go back,” I turned my head, confused. “To the room, I only said that because I knew you’d follow me.”

“Why?” The question escaped before I could stop it.

“Because I wanted to talk to you. I see you come day after day. Why?”

“I don’t know...I mean, I do. But it’s not easy to explain.” I was trying to escape that question but something in his expression told me he would wait for an answer.

“I love her.” I took a deep breath, recovering from the confession. “And I don’t know why I keep coming back.”

“I feel like...if she ever decides to look back, I want her to know I’m still here. And maybe she never will, but I just want her in my life, whatever that means. Some days it feels heavy to carry alone, but when I try not to come, I still do.”

I wasn’t looking at him anymore, my own words echoing in my mind. Some days I really tried not to come, but I always failed. Admitting that hurt.

I love her. And even though I tried to convince myself it was enough, I was always accompanied by the question: Why don’t you look back?

Suddenly I wanted to cry, but I didn’t know if I had the right. I had done this to myself, again and again.

“It’s not your fault.” His voice brought me back; his words were gentle and sincere. I almost believed them.

“Why did you stop taking the tours to her?” He looked surprised, as he didn’t expect me to have noticed. “I liked hearing you talk about her, I felt you saw what I do.”

“Well, when everyone was looking at her, I noticed you. I just knew you needed to be alone with her, so I stopped coming.”

I nodded, thanking him internally, for not only seeing but understanding what I felt.

“I can’t stop coming back.” I didn’t go louder than a whisper, yet those words felt like a scream for help.

“I know.” He paused. “And I can’t tell if that makes you devoted... or just really stupid.” His kind smile wasn’t judgmental, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were sad, almost apologetic, mirroring my state of mind.

We went silent for a while, enjoying the natural hum of the room. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable but wasn’t comfortable either. His hands clutched around the cup too tightly and I didn’t know how to act.

I tried to understand him, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Suddenly I felt my presence was a weight he couldn’t bear carrying.

“I think it’s time to leave, it’s getting late.”

I stood up and he finally raised his head, looking directly at me. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then gave up. I nodded and walked towards the door.

I was one foot outside the room when I heard his delicate voice.

“Come back tomorrow. And the next day and the day after. Keep coming back... enjoy every second you have with her...” He stopped abruptly when I turned to face him. I stared silently, pleading him to continue.

“Love hurts. Don’t let that scare you or make you think it’s not worth it. The way you feel is beautiful. Please don’t let any of your tears wash it away.”

“What do you mean?”

He hesitated, far too long, before taking a slow, steady breath to prepare himself to end the conversation.

“Nothing. Just that some things are beautiful because they hurt. Please...don’t forget how beautiful you are.”

He looked away right after, an unspoken wish for me to leave the room. ***

That day I arrived at the museum earlier than usual, and I wasn’t the only one escaping routine. Something in the place felt oddly different, and I couldn’t figure out what.

There was a new rush I hadn’t seen in a while, and something inside me screamed danger. I didn’t care, pushed the feeling away, and continued my usual path to her, trying to keep some sense of normality.

When I reached the room, my usual spot was taken, as well as the ones around it. A crowd had gathered around her. I haven’t seen something like this in a long time. Maybe they’re finally seeing her like I do.

I was trying to convince myself when I spotted the guide among them. I hadn’t seen him since that day, and now it felt like a silent warning. Closer, I recognized the teen as well. He must have felt it because he looked right away, simply pointed at the wall, with a new spark that made my heart sink.

I walked slower, avoiding the place I once would run to. The guide finally acknowledged me, his expression was a mix of apology and warning. I’m sorry. Please leave now.

I gathered the courage to look at her.

My whole body froze. She wasn’t there. She. Wasn’t. There. She had left, without a word, without a warning, without leaving anything behind that I could cling to remember her.

Her leaving was a cruel reflection of her feeling for me. Nothing.

I wanted to run to the exit and never look back, but my legs refused. Instead, I stepped closer, merging into the crowd, trying to mimic their reactions to forget about my own feelings. It didn’t work. I stayed the whole time, listening to the guide describe this new painting.

Among the “wows” and impressed murmurs, I had one hard realization. As pretty as this painting may be, I kept looking at it, only to try to find even the smallest trace of her. Something that would show one day she could return.

I didn’t find anything.

The crowd started moving, following the guide. But I stayed there, in my place, finally alone. I kept looking at the same wall, feeling nothing. And then, without warning, the first tear escaped, followed by others, a wild and raging ocean, screaming for her. I felt I was drowning in my own feelings.

Why did she leave?

I love her and it hurts so much.