Her smile wavered as she lay in

the hospital bed. "Are you done,

Charlie?" She lightly chuckled.

I shook my head as I dabbed the

brush into the misty water, filled

with different colors that merged

together seamlessly, not

fighting with one another.

Only if people were like that.

The strokes drawn were pure

soft, graceful yet poised. I erased

the darkness underneath her eyes,

I brought back the shine I once had

come to love. Her hair was like a

river, untamed. Yet soft to the eyes

like silk through your fingertips.

Her body lay on a bed

of white, as she held in

her hand a cloak. In the

cloak was a beautiful baby.

His eyes were blue like

his mother's. His hair dark

like his father's. This child

was the epitome of innocence

being brought into a world

of flaws.

"Can I see now, Charlie?"

Her voice swooned me out of

my thoughts. I nodded and

showed her the painting. and

for one tiny second, everything

felt in line.

"He is perfect," she

silently whispered.

And I wanted to say, "Just like you."

After all he has pieces of you

but I couldn't.