“My imagination lives a charmed life.” Grace said.
The weather had started to change. The summer temperatures were lingering in the back of our minds. Grace wore a green, chunky sweater over black yoga pants. I could see the fatigue in her eyes. I don’t know if she wasn’t sleeping well or if it was just the stress. She sipped her venti Starbucks coffee. Grace had always talked about how she hated mornings, but now she was just hiding behind her sunglasses. There wasn’t much effort put into the morning. Her hair was tied back in the tiniest numb of a ponytail possible. That was all her short hair would allow.
“Have you been painting?” I asked.
“Not really, I mean, I have a little bit, but not as much as I need to be.”
“I don’t know much about art. I like your work, but mostly because I can feel your happiness in them.”
“My paintings are depressing as shit!”
“I get that. But I know you’re happiest when you’re painting.”
“I really am.” A smile broke out on her face.