When Kenny and I started dating twelve years ago (next month), he picked up pretty early on that I had a thing for the window paintings by Henri Matisse.
So, he brought me a print. And I loved it. But for one reason or another it lived in between two flat pieces of cardboard in a manila envelope for more than a decade.
I kept waiting for the right frame, or wall, or I don’t know. While the print is beautiful, it’s neither rare nor expensive, but a part of me seemed to believe that it was in actuality, too good for me. Like I was fooling myself having (and even thinking) about displaying a piece of real art in my home.
I recently met up with my Matisse again, but this time instead of slipping her back inside of that dreaded envelope, I found a frame. I hung it up on the wall directly across from our bed, laid down, and smiled.
My whole life I’ve wanted to look out from my bed and see the water. Now I do. Every. Single. Day.
A little miracle twelve years in the making.