Such Small Hands

I walked down the streets of Paris in a daze, my nights are sleepless but love filled. I was making my way to the art gallery being displayed for Pueblo; he had finally agreed after months of begging done by myself and Hemingway. I looked down to my right, Zelda clung to my arm tightly. I stared down at her with such affection I felt I was going to explore.

She looked back up at me and smiled. "You're going to wander into a busy street one day doing that." She giggled. She loved my affection, I fed it to her in large quantities. I wanted her to be satisfied with everything ounce of her life.

"To die looking into the eyes of my love is such a heavenly way to die." I replied. She blushed bright red and looked away, her lips quivered trying to conceal her smile.

I looked back up and focused on walking, I could feel her pulse beating in the tips of her fingers, it was racing. I loved it. It was more than love, it was an obsession.

"What pieces do you think Pueblo is going to display tonight?" Her eyelashes battered curiously.

"Ones that he doesn't care for, all of his greatest works resemble his personal life. You know that."

"I do know that, but I don't think all of his greatest works are the ones that are too personal to share." She explained. I peered down at her.

"You don't?"

"No, I don't. He takes some pride in showing off his abilities and perspectives. I think the pieces he keeps for himself aren't all his greatest at all. But I could be wrong. I am merely one person with one opinion."

The conversation ended there, we silently agreed that we would just have to see for ourselves which ones were being displayed and sold tonight. I had other things on my mind, deep and cryptic things.