2/26/2024 0 Comments Impression obsession![]() The touch ignites a fire through my chest, making it harder to breathe. My eyes stay on the sculpture as his finger gently interlocks around mine. In poor discipline, my pinky finger flexes in the direction of his. However, being behind a sculpture, no one can see our hands. My throat goes tight, my eyes flicking to the entrance to ensure no one affiliated with me is coming. His pinky reaches out to mine again, ever so slowly grazing it with caution. My chest rises and falls with each breath. I don't dare look down I keep my eyes unbothered and along every stone curve of the sculpture. They separate by half an inch, but I can still feel the radiation of his like heat. I don't realize how close his hand is to mine until I feel his pinky finger graze me on accident. I switch the glass to my other hand, dropping the one between us. Sculptures offer a blank canvas for facial expression-I enjoy interpreting their feelings. I sip my champagne slowly, studying the features of the woman's face. The absurdity of the combination almost makes me smile, but I quickly divert my gaze back to the sculpture and pretend that he is not standing next to me. I glance to the floor and notice a pair of black dress pants trailing down to a pair of dirty black Converse. I can sense a tall figure aligning on my right, but I avoid turning my head, not wanting to give the impression that I recognize this person.īut his voice, I could recognize it anywhere. "Looks familiar." A deep voice whispers behind me.Īs I stare at the sculpture, I feel my chest tightening with the grip around my glass. She sits with power, looking down at him but it's hard to figure out if it's love or not. He almost seems like he's kissing her skin too. They're both naked you can see the spine in his chiselled back as he's curled against her knees. She holds the back of his head, knitted in his hair. It's of a man down on his knees before a sitting woman, digging his forehead against her knees and gripping the back her legs. I turn to a massive sculpture in the middle of the room, guarded with red velvet rope. I wonder if she's found peace lying in the pond. It's most likely the sky, but with art, you never know. Her eyes aren't dead but focused on something above her. Her hair seems to be done up elegantly but falling loose by the water. In a loose white gown, I'm not sure if she's on the verge of drowning or if she's at peace. It's a close-up shot of a woman lying in a pond, her eyes to the sky, and the crystal water barely frames her face. I sip my champagne and move on to the next painting.
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