The painting is nearly finished.
From the beginning he knew that this would be his finest work. He would make it so. In the attic, where the light is best and at its most natural, the easel is turned to face the sky. He stands, applying oils to canvas. This will be a tribute to the woman of his dreams. Although trite, this is how he thinks of her now. Since the gods had removed her from his life, his dreams have been filled with happy glimpses of her smile. For him, there is a sadness that will fade, and he will come to terms with her early passing, as surely as time itself passes.
He lowers the brush and stands back. He has caught her likeness. She wears her favourite dress. He steps forward and searches out details. The eyes are truly perfect. The smile is captured as being the something that it is, a thing that is not altered by time, it lasts forever, unchanging, eternal.
He sees movement in her eyes and a subtle motion of her hand. He looks on with little surprise or wonder as the gesture grows and takes on a reality that needs to be acknowledged. He blows her a kiss. Her hand moves faster, as if to show that the kiss was received. Slowly, the fingertips come through, then the hand, the arm extends. The fingers stroke his cheek, the way they always did, the way they always will.
Some things never change…