He’d found them in a thrift shop. The three wise men. Chipped and old, well loved by somebody in their past. He’d ruined the first two with his lack of painting skills. Large fingers maneuvering awkwardly with that small paintbrush.
It took him two hours to paint the last one.
It was slow work. His mom would call it, painstaking work. Filling in those little features with that too small paintbrush. It was all in the details and being patient was never one of his stronger suits. He’d always been a bigger picture type of guy.
She loved the details.
She would break down every note in a Whitney song, and even though he didn’t know what she was talking about half the time, he’d listen to her words with rapture, a smile tugging at his lips, his gaze wandering over her face, loving the way her eyes did that twinkling thing they did when she was excited. Liking how the words would tumble out of her mouth without pause. She made him appreciate the little things.
She made him want to spend two hours turning a biblical figurine into St. Valentine. Wrap it up in a bright red box shaped like a heart.

is very undignified...yet, here I am. GUUUUUUUH.
READ IT mark somewhere!...doesn’t, I’m telling you: READ IT! It’s really good! *-*...