Page 89 of The Heart of a Painter (As I Am 1)

Thomas took astep toward me from the entrance of the room, the rays of light shining on his handsome face. So beautiful, so serious, so far from me. The weeks without him weighed heavier than ever and Iached, from my feet to my chest to even my hair, for him.

When he walked closer, Inoticed he looked ragged, older than his thirty-four years. Prominent bags under his eyes, unkempt beard, his man bun disheveled.

“Hey,” he said, halting in place.

Every emotion that had been buried inside of me coursed through my body, making me sad and happy, ecstatic and numb. The list of things Ihad in mind to say evaporated into thin air, leaving me with asimple, meek, “Hi.”

His lips tugged to the side in ashy smile, anervous one. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” My response came out late as Italked around the tears that choked me. Tears for myself, for him, for us.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and asked with the same deep low tone Imissed, “Can Itake you home with me?”

The lump in my throat disappeared when relief took its place, and Inearly leaped into his arms. “I’dlove that.”