Claude stared at the painting.
He traced the contours of those delicate features with the eyes of a sculpture artist, recalling what it felt like when he ran his fingers over that velvety skin.
Daisy…
She loved to paint. Abstract art was her favorite.
He had never met anyone quite like Daisy. She was very sensitive to shapes and colors. She could tell from a cursory glance the exact mix of shades of a particular color. She could break down the most complicated objects into their basic shapes at a glimpse.
Her work was wild blotches of an insane mix of colors and exaggerated shapes. Despite all that she put on the canvas, the woman was quiet, always smiling, and forever agreeing. Like a lamb, she was pure, innocent, and kind.
The only one who appreciated her exquisite taste in ar
