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The Three Lovers

Who Peter was, was not as much of a concern to him as much as he was interested in who else other people were. Coming from a child that showed too much interest in places he did not belong, Peter spent endless days and nights in toil and caused his parents much anguish covering up his trail of misunderstandings. His parents did their best to give Peter the best money could buy, but never could they fulfill what he desired from people. Finally, at the end of their lives, Peter’s parents left him set free into the world. With handsome sums of wealth, Peter was out of their hands, hands that could no longer hold him back.

What Peter was, was easier to understand. He was a painter who found pleasure in how people were filled with different colors, strokes, and shades which brought them to life. He searched desperately for the right canvas to make his own. Peter searched in places where he imagined his ideal might be, donning a mask of who Peter wanted, but never who Peter was. In coffee shops brewed to blend in, in bookstores tucked away, Peter patiently searched for impatience.

Where Peter was meeting the Second never seemed to matter once the Second noticed that Peter was always there out of every corner of his eye. Suddenly it seemed to the Second, that he could never seem to recall any more times in which Peter was not there, and after awhile, times he was not looking into Peter’s eyes and the way they would flicker like a camera shutter or times where he was not looking at Peter’s lips and the way they spread apart—just how he had always imagined such a thing ought to be.

When Peter was with the Second, the Second was able to do all he had ever desired to do before. Peter drove the Second to cities the Second always wanted to go, helped the Second become the star in films he always wanted to show in and gave the Second the opportunity to model every fashion he ever wanted to own. On nights where the Second found himself drowning in a life he had only just imagined as he blended into coffee shops and sat tucked away into bookstores, eager to grasp onto toy after animal after woman, Peter sat waiting for the Second to come back. The Second always did, because Peter was the only one who understood the Second, for all his colors, strokes, and shades. An image of himself never sharper than before he met Peter.

Why Peter was digging was because he was making room for the Second’s canvas. Peter placed the Second right next to the place where his parents once had him dig for the First long ago. This was his gallery for paintings that were complete. Once he was done, Peter began to search for his Third.