Heart of Thorns

1648

Meneer often came to me, seeking me out to be the subject of his sketches. I had no conception if I was doing the role justice, but I nevertheless enjoyed the time off my feet.
For one series of many sketches, he asked me to lean out of the kitchen window, my head resting on my fist. I changed my posture a good many times before he had the preliminary sketches. To my surprise, he wanted to turn such mundane things into a painting to be sold. To create such a painting we needed many hours sitting together.
“Do you have siblings?” he asked.
I smirked, “A few, yes.”
“All boys?”
“I have brothers, yes. They‘re soldiers fighting in the war. I have a sister as well. She‘s often galavanting with a young solider from our town.”
“And your parents?”
I said nothing for a moment, looking down to choose my words. My pause caught his attention.
“My parents were married happily until the explosion at the castle two years ago. My father died in the explosion.”
We were quiet for a moment, letting the words mingle between us.
“I have too lost a great deal in my life,” he said with melancholic eyes, “It is all too sudden when those we love leave us.”
I caught his eyes, “I wish every day for my father to return. To have those memories of him come back to life.”
“That is what art is. My beloved Saskia is immortalized in her paintings, so her presence in this world and the next will never wane.”
By now I noticed my eyes had begun to sting. My cheeks burned as tears trickled down.
“And has the pain of loss left you?”
“Love never ceases to be painful. I have learned that in my life. I gave up painting after she passed for a good many years until I realized that my love of painting connected me to the love that she had given to me. And so I kept painting to keep her alive.”
It was then I realized that we were united in our melancholy. Grief wove around our hearts like thorns, but he realized that those thorns had roses blooming off them and showed that to the world. Although I could not see what my rose was yet, he gave me hope. Beyond my melancholy, there was a rose waiting for me.