Life of an Artist: The Conclusion

Part Three of Life of an Artist: Part Two and Life of an Artist: a Short Story.

You never told me about your dirty habit. It’s not a lie, you would say, if it is a lie of omission. I disagree, but what does it matter? I still hear your music carried out on the wind, the notes linger where you do not stay. You never told me about your filthy habit. If it was something like smoking cigarettes or drinking too much, I could have found a solution, but you weren’t searching for answers, you weren’t begging me to help.

Instead, you fled like every man before you. You gave me a chance to know you, to love you, but instead of staying and tending to my heart like a good man should you fled. You never told me when relationships grew to be beautiful and vibrant and strong, you sabotaged them.

I never expected to fall in love with a man like you, but now, there is something greater than you and I. We took two different colored strings and sewed them together somehow, and now, what we created stirs in my womb. I try to ignore the feeling I have. I’m not ready to be a mother, but we created something great, you and I, but now, I guess it’s just me alone with something stirring in my womb.

I would call you and tell you, but you stopped answering my calls. I would follow you home from the market, but I’m not that type of woman. You used to call me beautiful and let your fingers dance through my hair and explore my body. You made me feel like I had just gotten off a carnival ride, my stomach would lurch, and my heart felt as though it would explode.

When I paint, it silences this feeling of insecurity I have, but nothing silences the stirring anymore. There is something inside of me greater than life itself. If this child is to be an artist, so be it, but God forbid she be a violinist.

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