Dear Ginger,

I sincerely miss you. It’s been a very long time. Your dog agrees with me. He’s been very patient but he still waits for you to come back. He sits on his bed in your studio everyday, then sleeps with me at night. On your side of the bed, of course. But I guess I can say it’s not your side anymore, however I don’t know if my heart could manage that.

My parents keep telling me to go on a vacation of some sort, but I don’t know how that would help. Because you see, that’s what we would have done together so I can’t just go do it alone. The Bahamas sound nice, though...

I haven’t taken to drinking or smoking myself away, yet. But there’s always tomorrow. Wallowing in self pity has never been my strong suit. But you know that.

Maybe I was too hard on you and I apologize, even though it made you a stronger person I could’ve made myself softer instead. You might still be here.

I’m always hoping that you get my letter but I know that will never happen. It’s just not possible. You broke my heart and took the only thing giving me life right out of my reach.... so I am lost. So very, very lost.

What do I do? Besides leave this letter on the ground in front of your painted portrait?

Without you, I don’t want to. But I will. To remind myself of who I could have been.

But that’s self pity, so I’ll just leave your portrait hanging up for every visitor to see. Your studio will always remain untouched. A gallery for the sad and lonely people missing our dearly departed.

Yours, James.

The room was quiet, the kind of quiet that made it seem like the whole world was standing still,and even the dust was holding its breath. The once vibrant paintings were pale and cold, awash in the moonlight that poured through the slightly ajar window.

The woman in black cut a striking figure in the sharp light, long and lean and dangerous. Her smile was a slash of gleaming white against her shadowy face as she prowled closer to the target.

She made no sound in the earth shattering stillness, the universe stopping silence. Even her heart beat was quiet as she reached for the priceless piece of artwork, her fingers just brushing the gentle painted smile.

It was too ambitious, she knew. But she couldn’t help her self from 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 it. Making it hers. Greed had always ruled her heart, and someday it would be her downfall. Maybe today, maybe not, but she wouldn’t know until she completed her plan, until she gave in to the itch in her fingers and 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘. A thrill went through her body and her fingertips trembled, from adrenaline or fear she didn’t know.

Slowly, carefully, she slipped the Mona Lisa from its gilded prison and into her grasping palms.

The silence shattered.

Red warning lights swept away the pale glow of night and sirens blared into the quiet gallery. Guns cocked and men yelled and the painting slipped to the floor with a now mocking smile that matched her own.

Today it is.

I walked in expecting an art gallery to be full with the wonders and feats of artistically gifted individuals. I came because I was in search for a source of inspiration. Instead my eyes came face to face with white empty walls of disappointment at every corner I walked to.

I then headed to the receptionist to ask for a entry ticket refund. Only to be even more disappointed when I looked more carefully and found a sign saying :” No Refunds.”

What a disappointment.

I was taking all my beautiful artwork off the wall, I was so proud of myself for all of my accomplishments lately. It was kinda dim and cold in the empty gallery. I just kept working, the faster I get this done the faster I get to go home. Something sent chills down my spine, I felt like I shouldn't move. I just stood there still. I started to hear foot steps coming down the hall way.

Each step echoed quietly off of the walls of the airy room. Her eye travelled hungrily across various elaborate paintings, mentally counting their value within their polished copper frames, but she forced herself to resist- they weren’t what she had come for. Besides, there was no way that they would fit inside her nan’s old knitting bag, which she carried draped over one arm.

She caught sight of her reflection in a far window, beyond which benign stars twinkled happily over the chaos of cars and people that was Piccadilly Circus. She saw herself- a young woman, lithe and lean as a tiger, auburn hair unbrushed and tangled over her black turtleneck, with navy skin-tight jeans. Her dark luscious eyes glittered with the adrenaline of yet another robbery.

People called her the cat burglar (a title she quite enjoyed) because she always managed to pull off her heists with next to no visible evidence, very often in rooms that were locked from the inside. Police were baffled. She almost snorted to herself as she thought about it. Only unexperienced idiots used doors.

She passed through into the next room, footsteps soft and slow, gazing open-mouthed at the sheer grandeur of the roof, gilded with gold leaf and carved into gorgeous designs. Then she came to her senses and cursed herself. Time-wasting, she chided silently. But on the far wall, was the painting she had come for, smaller than the rest but worth so much more. She hurried over, pulling brown gloves over her hands to avoid fingerprints in case it was recovered.

Then it was wrapped in paper (her alibi if found carrying it on the street that it was a birthday present) and slipped into her trusty bag. She rushed, thrilled, back to the window which she’d opened yesterday when she came, hidden among tourists, to merely ‘look around’, and took a flying leap. She didn’t need ropes- she was tiger, after all.

By day, she was a university student. By night, though, she was the cat burglar.

We walk into a hollowed out building and the walls are blankly white Danny gives me a confused look We went from the historical section to the Classical paintings and I’m as confused as he is Danny turned me around to him to kiss him When all of a sudden all paintings were appearing And the walls had colors on them once more It was the gallery of love The most beautiful creation of all A connection between humans that can never be suppressed But always left for others to observe

it felt like a thousand eyes staring into your soul. The halls stretched on for miles, each walk a different shade of yellow or pink, or a different outline of a body or blue. The thud of footsteps echoed out, the only ones in the entire building. Their eyes scanned the artworks gazing at each one just long enough to understand it completely. The only thought racing through their brain was to find the perfect one. The one that would help them win the game.

The pictures danced underneath the moonlight slipping in from behind the curtains. Each frame was polished and balanced perfectly among each other. If you stood in the middle of it all it was like standing in the runway of an airport, each art piece a plane to another country, even to another world.