What's so hard about writing a story? There's rarely anything difficult about it.
So why are you having so much trouble putting the words onto paper?
You watch the people pass by outside in the sunny, warm weather. Every face is bright and smiling, merry about the world around them.
With a sigh, you push away the notebook and set your sketch pad in front of you.
When you can't write, you can draw.
The pencil hovers over the paper while you wait for it to do something. You try to come up with something to draw, but it never comes.
Frustrated, you set down the pencil and push the drawing utensils away. Today just isn't a good day for that, and it makes you angry because you just can't.
You tip back in the chair, lifting your feet off of the ground. You are near the verge of an Artistic Breakdown and there's nothing you can do about it. No amount of music or staring at old artwork has kept you from going under, and now, to your grief; the Breakdown seems to be unstoppable.
You stand up and walk over to the window, pulling back the curtains. And you watch as a handsome young man mounts his stringed instrument and sets the bow gently on the strings before playing a high and melodic tune that you can catch from so far away. With a smile, you back away from the window and return to your chair.
You pick up the pencil and press it down against the paper. Still, you can't seem to figure out where to start. It is in this irritation that you rise quickly, grab up your bag and shovel your things into it. And without a second thought, you leave your home in hopes of finding inspiration.
Sitting on the park bench, you watch the people briskly pass; children laugh while eating ice cream, adolescents wander about in flip flops with their peers, a few old couples hold hands and slowly take in the atmosphere. Today is abnormally cheery and warm, and for that reason, you really want to draw in inspiration and make something mind blowing, whether it be art or literature.
You set the sketchpad on your lap and look around you. Yet, nothing comes to you that is worth you at least attempting to draw. You almost want to pack up and go home for a lazy day.
You stare down at the blank lined paper, still waiting for something to hit you with such a force that you won't be able to get all of the words out. Slowly, an idea leaks into your mind and your begin you to write
'There is this young man I met today,'
But you don't know what else to say. It seemed good, only because it is all you can get in this low hour.
A shadow is cast over you, making you look up to see what or who might've caused it.
"Ciao, lovely lady~" says the young man.
"Hello," you smile, still looking up at him.
His eyes are a mesmerizing amber and he has short auburn hair with an odd sort of curl that sticks out a little.
"Why are you sitting here all by yourself?" He asks, giving you a little distance.
"Oh, I'm just trying to write…or draw…"
"What's the matter, bella? It seems like you have a problem," he says worriedly and sits next to you on the bench, setting a leather black case on his lap.
"I've got artists' block. I can't get rid of it," You confide in him with a sigh. The young man nods and looks up at the sky cheerily.
"I've been having the same problems, too. I can't find anything to inspire me…Until I found you!" he adds excitedly and faces you. "You're really pretty and I couldn't help but see you from way over there! You looked a little sad and I can't believe no one stopped and asked you if you were ok!"
All the while, hands move in silly gestures.
"Did I really look so sad?" You laugh a little at how desperate you must've seemed.
"So sad I almost thought that someone had broken your heart! But then I thought, 'who would hurt such a beautiful girl?' So I came over here to ask if you were ok!"
His accent is actually pleasing to you because it's quite different from the way people around you normally talk. He's just as full of energy as the day's atmosphere itself.
"You're so sweet," You say bashfully. "Thank you for coming to check on me. But I'm quite fine…"
"What do you mean, bella?! Artist's block is like…English food! It's terrible and follows you wherever you go!"
"Well, maybe we can help each other then." You offer your right hand. "I'm [First name] [Last Name]. And you are?"
He takes your hand excitedly, and, to your surprise, pecks it gently. "Feliciano Vargas. It's a pleasure to meet you, [Name]!"
"I agree," you nod. He releases your hand.
"So how do you think we can help each other?"
"Well, what are you trying to do?"
"Pe…I want to draw using my laptop," he pats the leather bag on his lap. "I just got this thing called a tablet, but I can't figure out how to use it! My friend Kiku is really good at drawing with it, and I want to be as good as him! But…it's so different than a paintbrush and an easel…it's kinda like drawing with a pencil…Hey! Did you want to draw using my tablet?"
"I've never used one before—"
"Ve~! That's okay! It might be easier for you." Feliciano insists and pulls out his laptop.
"It's nothing~!" he pulls out a thin, sleek pad that's all black. He hands it to you.
"You just draw whatever you want on the screen with the pen and it'll show up on the screen here. Isn't it cool?"
"It is cool," You agree, picking up the slim black pen.
"Okay!" Feliciano says with a smile. "It's up and ready! What are you going to draw?"
"Hmm…" You look around the area, and then back to him. "Can I draw you?"
Feliciano's smile becomes impossibly wider.
"Me? Ve! You're so sweet! Okay, you can draw me, bella! Do you want me to pose?"
"No," you laugh. "You don't have to pose. Just…be yourself. Forget that I'm even here."
"That's kind of hard to do because you're so pretty! Ve, I'll try!" Feliciano twiddles his thumbs and whistles a little.
"Alright, I'm finished."
"Ve! Can I see?"
"Of course," You turn the screen so he can see your work.
"Ve, I look so cool!" he says, nearly hopping off of the bench. "You did really well on the lines...better than I could ever do!"
"It is kinda difficult," You smile. "And thank you! I'm glad you liked it!"
Feliciano nods and begins to say something else, but is stopped short by another voice.
"Italy! It is time to go!"
Italy looks in the direction of the voice and waves to a tall burly man with blonde hair and pretty blue eyes.
"Can't we stay just a little while longer?"
"The train will be leaving in thirty minutes! We have to go!"
"Quickry, prease! We can't miss this one!" calls another person, much shorter than the other man, with chin-length black hair.
"I guess you should go," tell him. Feliciano frowns a little.
"But I don't want to leave you! I don't mind if we miss our ride."
"That isn't good, Feliciano," you shake your head. "Your friends are waiting for you. You really should go."
You hand him the laptop gently. Italy looks at the screen and then looks back at you.
"I'll save it…as a BMP…"
"A Bitmap file…When I see you again…you'll color me, right…?" He looks to be on the verge of tears.
"Of course I will," you nod, trying to hold back tears of your own.
"Italy!!! Hurry up!!!"
"I'll be back, bella." Italy says quietly, putting his laptop back inside the leather bag. "I'll be back soon! I promise! Just…don't forget about me…okay?"
"Okay," You smile. You could never forget him. Feliciano hesitates for a moment, then leans forward and pecks your cheek.
"Ciao, [Name]! Ve, I'll be back!"
"Itary, prease hurry!"
"We do not have all day!"
"I promise," he says finally and his eyes search yours. There's something more to his words than a promise to see you again. And upon that realization, you can't help but smile again.
"I'll be waiting, Feliciano," You wave at him. He beams at you once more, and then returns to his friends.
You watch as the three of them leave in a hurry, heading in the direction of the train station about four kilometers away. And after they disappear it is at that moment that you realize that you've begun to tear up.
"Feliciano Vargas," You say to yourself.
You hope he does come back, and really soon.
'There is this young man I met today. He'd been in search of something, just as I was. And we happened to meet by chance. The time we spent together, though utterly brief, was meaningful. It is upon this that I daresay that in that short time, I had developed feelings for that stranger. Odd, it may seem, but, regardless, I have come to find that the feelings I have gained for this merry stranger are feelings that only the lucky truly get to experience. I hope to see him again one day.'
Your Artists' Breakdown has been cured by a new inspiration. The only thing you yearned for now, was not to draw another picture, or write another story, but to see him again. And when you do see him again, you won't ever leave his side.
You close up your notebook and something small falls out. You grab it up. It is a small slip of blank ripped paper. You turn it over. Written upon it is a number, along with the words 'Call me'.
You smile, knowing exactly who it was from.