The Painting

It was like nothing I had ever seen before and I have done my fair share of psychedelics.

The coffee shop was very cozy and had lots of liitle nooks and crannies and lots of great places to sit. A lot of the places were well tucked either in a corner or behind book cases and a lot of effort was put into each place where none of the other little seating areas were visible when you sat down. All of the furniture was different like it had all come from different thrift stores. Some was old, while others were more modern, but each piece was well used along with being well cared for and looked like they each had their own unique story to tell.

We had decided to sit in a little corner tucked away behind a large bookshelf. There were two arm chairs each leather, but each definitely from different eras, facing each other with a small wooden coffee table between them to set your coffee or scone or egg and cheese biscuit. The one thing that always caught my eye was the painting that was hung on the wall amid the two chairs and above the coffee table. It was a colorful oil painting of a path running in the middle of tall grass with beautiful red topped trees poking out. The path lead to a misty background and was lined with a variety of plants and flowers, all a vibrant red that seemed to leap off the canvas.

I had once seen her sitting alone in that same nook and felt compelled to sit and have a conversation with her. She was certainly unique and dare I say, odd. It was like she came from a different world and was just now learning about the customs in ours. She was loaded with all sorts of questions about the goings-ons of our world and the humans that inhabit it. Her attire was vibrant and red and in some ways reminded me of the painting that was haning between us.

There was a lull in the bombardment of questions she was throwing at me and I had hoped she was satisfied with what I was able to answer, when my eyes were drawn to the painting. I commented, "I really like this painting, I'm always drawn to its vibrant colors whenever I come here."

She looked up at the painting, then back at me and asked, "I have asked you many questions about your world, would you like to know anything about mine?"

I was a little bit confused by the inquiry since it was asked in a way like she was truly not of our world. "I guess I am a little curious. Where exactly are you from?" I was surprised that this was the first time I had asked that.

"Let me show you." She said as she stood up and took my hand.

In the moment she touched me, the wrold around me start to melt away. It was dripping and oozing downwards like too much oil paint on a canvas. The colors blended and twisted and soon a vibrant blue sky made of paint was overhead. I looked down and could see my body, but it was as if a painter had fashioned me on a canvas. I looked at my outstreched hand in wonder and follower it to her hand, then up heer arm and soon saw the beautiful reds that she wore made with precision brush strokes.

I then looked back and receding behind us as we walked forward was a small frame and I could make out the world I came from, the coffee shop within. I had stepped into the painting with her and felt no fear, only curiousity.