She knew that he was in there with his latest model. His gaze rested on another young girl hoping to live as his muse. His paintbrush had a way of transforming the most subtle look in a portrait. Why did she keep passing by his studio each night? There were other ways to get home. Would she ever admit that his eyes still focused on hers in all remembered and forgotten dreams?
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As she left the hospital, a block away from the church, she was smiling. Yes, smiling. She knew she didn't have the right to be, the right to hope against hope that this time, this time, the baby growing inside her would make it. It was all too much to ask, and she knew this. But when she passed the church with the orange glow in the window, she felt just that—hopeful. Standing outside looking in, she had no way of knowing exactly where the glow was coming from or why it was there. Was it a funeral? Baptism? Or had someone just gone in to light a candle to try to encourage their own little grain of hope? She never went in to find out. She walked on by, warmed by the glow, and smiling all the way.
The Keystone
Everyone notices the windows.
They always see the lights.
So few see the wonder.
So few know the truth.
There would be no windows.
There would be no light.
If it wasn't for the keystone,
there would be nothing but wall.
She knew that he was in there with his latest model. His gaze rested on another young girl hoping to live as his muse. His paintbrush had a way of transforming the most subtle look in a portrait. Why did she keep passing by his studio each night? There were other ways to get home. Would she ever admit that his eyes still focused on hers in all remembered and forgotten dreams?
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