It's funny how we don't show the little things enough value, how we don't appreciate those little moments that made or make us who we are, it's sad that when we finally realize that we are to show those things value; it's already too late.

{We are gathered here today due to this sad occurrence...}

So before it's too late, treat those things you value better than you treat them now.

{Husband, father, son, brother and friend.}

If it's people, hold them; let them know they are important, do not let them go. Why?

{It is a very sad day.}

Because when we are standing before them and they are in that wooden box... You don't want to know how it feels.

-----

After dad passed away it was hard for us but me and mom got around okay when we were together; we broke down and wept when we were alone because dad was a major part of our family. I often pondered on where he might have ended up or what he'd be doing at certain moments (I was certain he'd be painting though); I had so much I wanted to tell him, so whenever I felt alone I spoke, believing he was listening and watching me. He was an artist, taught me every thing I know, would have wanted me to keep going after he was gone but I lost my sense of inspiration, I lost my drive and it went down in that wooden box with him. At first I believed it was my drive toward art that was gone but later on I realized that it was my drive toward everything, I no longer cared about anything, until that boring day of twelfth grade. I wasn't paying attention to the class as usual, seated at the back with my mind wandering off as usual and then...

"Welcome Arthur, he's a transfer student and would be spending the rest of his academic pursuit with us; please make him feel at home here."

{He looks stupid} I concluded.

This Tall, red-headed, jock shaped teenager was sure to turn heads, I was sure mine was firmly fixed on my neck and it would not turn but as weeks went by, I began to waver and found my head shifting. Why?

"He loves art!"

And sadly, just like some other girls, slightly naive me fell for his charm.

-----

I had an art project that was due by the end of the week and I just couldn't do it, I didn't know what to paint; so I sat on a stool at our school art lab, staring at an empty canvas, my fists squeezed shut on my lap.

{Drop}

I felt my hands begin to moisten from the tears that left my eyes, down my cheeks and against them, alone in the art lab... And I broke down. I couldn't stop, then I felt huge arms wrap me from behind causing my senses to return.

"Is this rape?" I asked myself.

"Scream!!" My brain yelled and as my lips parted I felt a chin on the top of my head and...

"There there; it's okay, stop crying now."

"Arthur?!" I exclaimed

"What are you doing here?" I asked

"Well... We have a project that's due in two days, so I came here for an early start." He said.

(Early start?) His arms were still around me, felt very calming and I was lost in them, but he let go,

"Oh sorry, didn't mean to back bug you, but I did though."

He walked across the room and took an empty canvas on one hand and pulled a stool with the other and placed it by my stool; I felt this sudden rise in temperature. I was sweating in an air conditioned room.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

I was unable to muster a response,

"Did you catch a cold or you have a fever?"

(What an absurd question to ask, why would he ask me such a dumb question, do I look sick?) I wondered.

Like he read my thoughts, he said,

"It's because your face is glowing."

I blushed even more, not waiting for him to complete his sentence, but how does my face glowing make me look sick? It was then I heard the rest of his sentence,

"It's bright red, like you're overheating or something."

How dare he?

"Umm... I'm okay." I replied sharply to prevent him from speaking further.

"Okay..." He responded and I could tell he did not buy my reply but he didn't say anything again and that was fine by me...

"So why were you crying? No inspiration is coming to your mind?" He asked.

(Inspiration?) I was confused, didn't understand what he was talking about. Then he added,

"For the project that's due Friday."

Yes, I lied,

"Sure that's why I was crying, I can't think of what to paint."

He got off his stool and got on the podium.

"What are you doing?" I asked and he replied,

"Giving you what to paint." He said and took off his shirt and took a pose.

My lips parted and my face became more red,

"Come on! Start painting, I can't stay like this for ever you know."

So I painted in about five minutes and he didn't move, my sadness went away with every strike of my brush on the canvas, till I forgot I was sad few minutes earlier.

"Done!" I exclaimed in joy.

"Can I see?" He asked while he stretched. He got off the stage and made his way to me,

"No! You'd have to wait till Friday." I responded.

"Oh well..." He changed his course and walked back to his stool,

"Now it's your turn." He said to me.

"My turn?", What did he mean by my turn?

"Go on, get on stage let me paint you."

This wasn't my style and I tried to stop myself but I couldn't found myself walking to the podium and he clapped and cheered for me as I kept going.

"What was I doing?" I kept asking myself until I got to the stage, took a pose and he was finished with his painting,

"Now you also have to wait till Friday." He informed and I giggled, we both laughed hard, it felt like a dream but I was loving this moment. After that we both said our goodbyes and went our way, I don't know if that's how he is with everyone or what he was thinking but I couldn't stop thinking about the time we had spent together and I wanted to be around him more.