He can only see her. In his mind, a frame always surrounds her face. He imagines painting her, contouring her body with his painting brush, touching her lips, and caressing her skin. She is precious to him, and this, he cannot explain it with words. He would have to paint her to show us.

Unattainable, and too far out of his reach, she holds her head proudly in the frame. She is courted by rich men, loved by poets, and adored by handsome models. Attracted by flirtatious behaviours and frivolous manners, she neglects his presence, and ignores his burning soul. He aches, cries, and sometimes screams his pain away. Even in his dreams, she stays still in the frame.

He approaches her face, and smells her. He knows it so well, her unique scent, sugary and comforting scent. He wishes to devour her inner pride and vanity, to enter her body and wash her from her sins. Only then, she could see him and open up her heart to him. Until he wakes up from his dreams, he hopes and tries again, every day, to come closer to her soul. She is his love, his muse, his inspiration. “Isn’t that obvious?” he shouts in the middle of the night.

And then he wakes up and faces reality: he is alone in the dark, and she is out in the light.