Love is art. I understood that as I watched his brushstrokes. He was in the park painting a tree. I was sitting on a bench nearby. After deciding to abandon my fears and be brave, I approached him.
When I asked him about his painting, his response was simply that he loved trees. It was then when I decided I loved him and always would. I’d like to think he decided the same about me then, too.
We exchanged numbers, my excuse being that I wanted to keep up with his work. We are now married. He paints, and I write.