Painting

A note laid on the table, the handwriting was neat, looking perfect, must've been written by a girl. She stopped by the flower market to pick an arrangement of florals that morning, it was a modern storefront. As she entered, a fresh delicately innocuous air of freshly-cut blooms was about. Metal buckets brimming with a multitude of floral compositions, neatly in abundance along the forefronts of the store, as water drips over the edges onto the ceramic floor. A fresh selection of arrangements made for display.

A sensation of peace and harmony, blowing through a gentle and inviting spring breeze. Wrapped across thick brown paper covered packaging atop the table, and taped amongst the edges to hold. Black ink with thin and thick curves elegantly writing the words, “For Summer”.

"Beautiful, isn't it?", a voice entered from behind. I don't recognize that voice, she thought to herself. But I've heard it from somewhere, she turned around.

…

“What does falling in love feel like?"

"It's hard to explain honey"

Summer continued painting; a scenery of sunset. Her father looked at her and smiled. Splotches of paint across her face and hands, unsure if deliberate or intentional. A canvas by the window, and a collection of paint, dollops on a palette. "It's like painting. At first, the canvas is blank, and life is drawn in black and white. As pretty as it may be, something always feels missing...

One day you may meet someone, and they start painting a world of colors into it. When that happens- life is just not the same anymore."

"That sounds beautiful", Summer replied in amazement.

"But you have to look at the whole landscape."

"What does that mean?"

"A painting is more than the sum of its parts... A cow by itself is just a cow. A meadow by itself is just grass, flowers. And the sun peaking through the trees is just a beam of light. But you put them all together, and it can be magic (Flipped)."

Don't you think it is magical?

Everything in this world is magic, except to the magician