a musician’s life

I still don’t really know what my gift is. Eoghan seems unable to pinpoint my ancestry though we’re all more or less sure at least one of my parents was an earth-gifted demon for how well I handle everything earth and nature related though at times he seems to think it might be more of a ‘life’ sort of gift. Now and again I feel left out, as if I was the only one who didn’t really know anything about his past. I try not to let it get to me and most of the time I manage, it just isn’t always easy.

Now and then though, I’ll stop and think about what I’m doing with my life currently and I wonder if I shouldn’t have picked something else. Art is beautiful, it’s wonderful, there are so many different types and I have a way with most of them. At times though, I get blocked and I wonder about other things in life. I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have decided on fashion (my mind reminds me that it’s a type of art too), or maybe a musician (also art in its own way) or even just anything else but what I’m doing right now.

I ask myself the question. What would my life be like if I had picked something else to do with my free time? What if I’d never picked up art as a hobby? What if I’d never done those graffiti on those walls? I most certainly wouldn’t be where I am now. I would more than likely never have met Quentin and there are some pretty high chances I wouldn’t be alive to this day.

Shaking those thoughts off always takes some time. It frightens me to think that if I’d picked anything else, if art hadn’t caught my attention from a young age, I would more than likely not be here, I even more than likely wouldn’t even be alive. That one particular thought rattles me and it tends to keep me from being able to do anything art related for a few days.

Quentin is never far when I start thinking about those things and he always pulls me back up to the surface. My self esteem is still very low on the scale of ‘where it is’ versus ‘where it should be’. I don’t know that it will ever go much of anywhere except where it is now. No matter how much he might encourage me and tell me how wonderful everything is and how gorgeous my art is and how beautiful I am, I can’t manage to really get my self esteem to believe in those things. I want to, I really do.

“Yael.” I blink and look up for a moment then back down to the rose-bush I have been staring at, without seeing it, for I don’t know how long. I look back up to Quentin’s somewhat saddened face. He steps closer and kneels next to me, one hand settled on my shoulder. “You’ve been sitting there staring off for almost half an hour. At first I thought you were trying to figure something out but then I gathered you were just thinking. I didn’t mean to disturb you but you had that look on your face you get when you start to question your life choices.”

I blush, my cheeks warming and I sigh, ducking my head. I murmur a gentle apology and lean against him when he pulls me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me to remind me that he’s there. That he’s not going anywhere and that I’ll have him with me for as long as I’ll ever need him. He rests his head atop mine and I close my eyes, resting my weight against him almost utterly. He murmurs mindless things against my hair and I feel my eyes grow wet as frustration bubbles to the surface.

It usually always happens this way. I start to doubt myself, he comes in to the rescue, just holds me, murmurs away against my hair, mindless words and everything just crashes down. I feel the need to cry, I feel frustrated with myself and he just keeps on holding onto my until I’ve managed to get it all out of my system. I don’t always cry, I honestly don’t cry very often in these situations but there are some days that are just worse than others.

Eventually, when he feels that I’ve calmed, he releases his hold but he doesn’t move away. He looks at me, wipes my cheeks clear and simply kisses me. Words are not often necessary between us, especially at times like these. I mumble a quiet sort of thank you and he leans back, moving to his feet. He holds his hand out to me and I take it. He pulls me up to my feet, hugs me again and I shudder and sigh. I wish I wouldn’t doubt myself this way but this little monster is always with me, usually well enough out of the way but it tends to come up whenever it wants.

“We’ll be okay, really. Yael, the world isn’t perfect but it feels perfect to me because we’re together, because I have you with me and because I know I’ll never be able to let you go or have anyone else be near you. I want you to be mine until the end of times and I can’t change the way I feel.” I laugh softly, his words settling right where they belonged. I drop my head to his shoulder and he hugs me again.

I smell like dirt and feel as though I’m covered in the stuff even though I know that’s not really the case. I’ve barely done a thing in the garden today but I know I’ve had enough. Today is one of those days where I’m better off not actually being left alone.

When he steps back again, he simply takes my hand and I go with him. I know I don’t need to say anything, I know I don’t need to actually do anything. It’s all just part of how we go about things and how our lives are.

We step out of the garden, the doors closed and he leads me towards our bedroom. We step inside and to the bathroom where he gets the shower going. It’s the first step for these days, even if I’ve just showered or even if we’ve not done anything to warrant another shower. I mostly stare at him, my mind still working to catch up with the fact that I’m no longer in the garden. He moves back to my side and undresses me, his fingers brushing along my skin sending little tingles of pleasure down my spine. Once I’m bared, he undresses in turn and then we’re in the shower, we’re just washing up, relaxing under the hot spray and cleaning off invisible dirt.

Once he’s sure that we’re squeaky clean, he snags towels, wraps the both of us in them, dries my hair, his own and then leads me back into the bedroom where all we do is settle on the bed, nestle close and cuddle for the rest of I don’t know how long. Not that it matters, so long as he’s with me, I tend to forget everything else around me.

I press my nose against his throat and I close my eyes. The heat of his body, his presence against mine, the simple contact of our skin together helps me in focusing on the present, on the fact that this is my life, that nothing is really going to change it, at least nothing from the past. That I have a gift for growing things and quite a bit of talent for all things art. I can’t go back in time to change anything and I honestly don’t want to. This is my life and it’s perfect as it is.

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