Pretend The Night Never Happened by Lauren Wood

Author:Lauren Wood [Wood, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-29T16:00:00+00:00

"Alright, Scott, what do you think about this one?" Poppy asks, pointing to an abstract painting hanging on the wall of the hole in the wall gallery she's dragged me into.

I squint at the canvas, trying to decipher the meaning behind the chaotic mix of colors and shapes. "It's... interesting," I say diplomatically. "But honestly, I don't feel any emotional connection to it. It's just a bunch of random brushstrokes."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," Poppy counters, her eyes twinkling with passion. "You see, each of those brushstrokes represents a moment in the artist's life – their joys, their sorrows, their triumphs, their defeats. You just have to look beyond the surface to find the story."

"Sounds like a lot of work for something that could easily be mass-produced and sold for a fraction of the price," I grumble, my mind already calculating the potential profit margins.

"Scott, that's exactly the problem!" Poppy exclaims, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Art isn't just about making money; it's about connecting with people on a deeper level. It's about sharing our humanity with one another."

"Sure, I get that," I say, trying to placate her. "But at the end of the day, we all have bills to pay. And if selling art is how we make a living, then why not focus on the pieces that are most likely to bring in the big bucks?"

"Because..." Poppy hesitates, searching for the right words. "Because there's more to life than just money, Scott. Sometimes the most valuable things are the ones that can't be bought or sold – like love, friendship, and the feeling you get when you create something truly beautiful."

"Ah, spoken like a true idealist," I tease, giving her a playful nudge. "But in the real world, those things don't always pay the rent."

"Maybe not," she concedes, her expression softening. "But I'd rather be a starving artist with a soul than a wealthy sellout without one."

"Ouch," I say, feigning hurt. "That stings, Poppy." In truth, her words hit closer to home than I care to admit.

"Sorry," she says, looking genuinely apologetic. "I didn't mean to come across as harsh. It's just... art has always been my lifeline, you know? It's how I make sense of the world and express my deepest emotions. And I can't help but feel protective of it."

"No, I get it," I reassure her, feeling a strange mix of admiration and envy for her unwavering conviction. "And maybe you're right – maybe there is more to art than just dollars and cents. I guess I've just never really allowed myself to see it that way."

"Hey, it's never too late to learn," Poppy offers, her smile warm and encouraging. "And who knows? Maybe one day, you'll even find a piece that speaks to your heart instead of your wallet."

"Maybe," I agree, surprised by how much I want that to be true. As we continue to explore the local galleries, I find myself opening up to Poppy in ways I never thought possible, our shared vulnerability drawing us closer together despite our differences.

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