I sit down across from an “artist” and look him up and down. He’s dressed in a paint stained hoodie, with ash grey jeans, and dirty white sneakers. It’s a stark contrast to my pink blouse, white jeans, pink flats, and my blue jean jacket. His dark brown hair is pulled messily into a small bun and he has a well shaven goatee on his face. He looks messy, which makes sense considering his profession.

———

A young wide-eyed girl sits across from me and looks me up and down. She’s dressed in a silk pink blouse, with white jeans, and clean pink flats. It’s quite divergent compared to my messy look. Her light brown hair is pulled into a long sleek ponytail. Her green-rimmed glasses sat on her face, and offered a nice contrast to her ivory skin. She’s dressed executively for today’s seminar.

———

Through the whole speech that artist just idly scribbled at a piece of paper on his lap. I’m not surprised that he couldn’t pay attention, he is an artist after all, and artists only have their heads in the clouds.

———

Through the whole seminar that writer payed close attention and even scribbled down notes on a small notepad. She was quite studious, which makes sense for a writer. They’re always in the now I suppose.

———

We got partnered together for a writing exercise, we had to describe our partner as descriptively as we could. I turned my chair towards him and started writing down his features as best I could, while he sat there scribbling idly once more on that piece of paper. I roll my eyes and continue describing him.

———

I begin drawing the features of the writer before I even attempt writing them because I needed a visual of her before I described her, and I didn’t want to be rude and stare at her the whole time. She was quite a captivating subject I must admit.

———

I filled up a page describing the messy man that sat before me. Our next task was sharing with our partner what we wrote about each other. I cleared my throat and began talking. “I said you were a creative spirit who isn’t in the present but instead sleeps in the clouds. You aren’t a very materialistic person and you march to the beat of your own drum, you’re nice looking with a well shaped jawline, and you have a scruffy beard. You also have deep brown eyes that are deep as a 12 foot swimming pool.” I stop and look at him and he’s still staring at me. His expression has changed and he starts smiling. “How’d you get all of that from me just sitting here?” I shrug. “It’s a gift. Let’s hear yours.”

———

Her writing of me was beautiful. She painted me a vivid image of myself, and that’s saying something. I sit up in my seat and show her the picture I drew of her. Her jaw drops as she examines every detail, every fine line, and I’m happy. “That’s good.” I say, relieved that she wasn’t going to be a stick in the mud. She spoke up again, “That’s not what he asked us to do though.” I let out an exasperated sigh. “This is the same as your essay, I took your words and put them on paper. It’s the same thing, just in reverse ways.” I say with a hint of an attitude.

———

“This is the same as your essay, I took your words and put them on paper. It’s the same thing, just in reverse order.” He shoots back with a bored tone as he slumped back in his seat. I never thought of it that way. “Exquisite and abnormal way of thinking.” I say as I examine my nails nervously. “Just say I’m right.” He baits me but I don’t give him that satisfaction. “You’ve definitely got a point artist.” “You too writer.” He says back with a smile.