Today, he’s stopping by my apartment for me to make a mold of his chest and shoulders as part of the installment to later be casted and painted. Due to his ridiculously busy schedule and my own, most of our conversations of science, human anatomy, and simplistic elemental theories have been through texts and emails with minimal face-to-face time between his classes and activities. We’ve also had a few late-night sessions, but those were more of the social nature. Sometimes, it’s best to let the body rather than the mind lead toward one’s needs. Noticing the time, I close a fictional telling of Van Gogh’s childhood, a book that I’ve been combing through for minute details to finalize my art history thesis. My advisor suggested I give it a look before turning in my paper for another round of critiques. I’ve found a few obscure details about the man’s life to add to my paper but nothing profound, and I plan to turn in my final findings within the next month. Crossing the threshold of my bedroom, I enter into the kitchen where Chandra and Jeremy are reading silently next to one another at the bar.
