I'd take you dancing if you liked it, if you moved your feet and put your hands behind my neck, went along to the piano we listed to together instead of you just enjoying it with your paint brush and making little twinkling stars into the project you don't allow me to see yet, like you always do with your work until you finish it. I can tell they're stars, they're lifelike reflecting from your glasses y'know. They're perfect even when you curse yourself for whistling instead of focusing even when the song I showed you is your favourite. You don't make mistakes, do you?

I'd tell you to take a break if you would listen to me, ask you to go and fetch us small glasses of whiskey while I lift the needle and make the gramophone play those first notes from our song that always make you smile. But you're buried in that project of yours, swiping in the colour of your own eyes and smiling like you do when the painting looks like you wished it did. They're always beautiful, even the ones you paint over with white to restart.

I'd write a poem about you if I was a wordsmith but words aren't what I'm good at, you are the artist after all. I'd ask you to help me but you're too buried in the project you have, mixing colours to just the right shades in a way I could never do. You're focused like always, probably what I fell in love with at first.

I'd tell you what I want you to do later today but there's a comfort to just sitting on the sofa with you and listening to the record together while you whistle to the rhythm.

I'd try to make you come with me to see the spring trees outside but the fireplace is warm and you're clearly not ready to leave your project yet, coal going again the painting with a soft scratching noise, the noise I have come to associate with telling you to come back to bed because finishing something is not worth you being up three in the morning for it.

I'd like for you to take your mind off this project of yours for a second but I know you're about to finish it from watching you do these projects for years on end, I know you don't like being interrupted. It is my way to show my love, when I don't have the words, to give you peace and help you put the painting to dry, I'm better with actions than just telling you how I love you but I'm sure you know I do.

"It's finished."

I turn my head as you turn the painting, eyes finding their way to a dedicatedly made painting of us two, beautifully done like all your work before this one, even if I'm sure this will grow to be my favourite.

"I love it."