Love Hurts And So Does Art Novels & Stories

Oliver looked at him carefully. “No.” A pause. “Fear creates desperation.” Another pause. “And desperate people try controlling everything.” The words landed heavily. Because this time— Oliver wasn’t attacking him. He was understanding him. And somehow— that was worse. Elias’s expression shifted subtly again. Uncertainty deepening. Clara stepped beside Oliver now. “You know what both of you still don’t understand?” Neither answered. “You survived the same trauma.” A pause. “But neither of you ever forgave yourselves.”

Most of them were about Graham. She had poured all her love onto the canvas, brushstroke after brushstroke, laying bare the depth of her devotion. And yet, when he saw the paintings, all he said was, "Stop wasting time on meaningless things. The only person I've ever loved is Allison." Graham was a block of ice—no amount of warmth could ever melt him. That day, Josie dragged every painting she had ever made of him out to the edge of the city. She doused them in gasoline.

That was one of a few things I couldn’t understand about her. I could see the beauty of some arts, but some also raised a lot of questions. Why did she spend a lot of money on those things? “Because art is endless, My Dear.” She once said that solemnly. “It defies time and mortality. It can turn suffering into something beautiful. Isn’t it great to be able to watch the beauty of humanity?” I was 10 when I asked her that. At that time, even until this very second, I still couldn’t bring myself to agree with her. Didn’t that make art as a media of lies? A mask, a facade. Lie was human nature after all.

“You guys are useless.” Liam laughed and took a sip of his beer before saying, “Alright, man, tell us again. What does she love most? Let's see if we can do better.” “Art,” I said instantly. The word felt soft on my tongue. “She’s a graphic designer. She sees stories in colors. Her brain just… paints the world differently.” “And what do you love most?” Liam pressed. “Hockey,” I replied. “Then bring those two worlds together,” he said simply. “You and her — art and ice.”

"Really good." "They're just practice." "No. They're not." She picked up the first one—the crowded flowers. "This one especially. There's something here. Memory. Loss. Love. All mixed together." I stared at the painting. Saw what she saw. "I didn't know that was there," I said. "That's what makes it art. You put it there without knowing." She handed me her lake painting. I took it. Held it. "Trade?" she asked. "Trade."

“He probably did.” Elijah turned, fire flashing in his eyes. “You can’t say that like it erases everything. Like it makes it okay.” “I’m not saying it erases it,” Cassia replied. “I’m saying two things can be true at once. He was paid to watch you. And he cared for you. Love doesn’t undo betrayal. But betrayal doesn’t always kill love, either.” Her words made Elijah’s chest ache more, not less. “Did you know?” he asked.

She was my Ex that made me think love was such a cruel thing. Looking back at all those months I dated Lori, it was nothing but pain and sorrow. I loved her with everything I had: my time, energy and resources but I got nothing else in return other than pains and so much pains. I had felt like I would never survive my last encounter with her. Greg was right, Lori treated me light shit, like I was a nobody. The last time I ever got to hear from her was when she broke up with me.

Again, like always, I tried to fathom what I did to him. No matter how many times I’d tried to remember, I couldn’t. I didn’t know why Maverick hated me. I wasn’t sure I ever would. “I don’t think he likes me,” I said to India. “More like hates me.” India gathered her food. “What’s that saying? There is a fine line between love and hate?” I gave her a halfhearted smile, and followed her out into the Louisiana heat. “Hey,” she said when we descended the stairs. “You into art? There is an exhibit in the courtyard at six, and I’d love for you to come watch me paint.”

The implication was clear and Lloyd felt sick. "Demons command more than you think," she shifted uncomfortably. "But that aside. He wasn't a pauper and certainly, his education proves that. Art was always a favourite subject, he has a lot of admiration for the freedom of art and the beauty it captures, the beauty you can see and that which you can't." "I'm not sure he'd like some modern art," Lloyd managed a smile. "I don't understand how shit on a stick can be classed as art."

Desperate for not getting hurt, desperate for comfort, for the love she never got but deserved. "Shut up you should face the consequences. Maybe you will learn to think before doing anything. You should learn your lesson. You should meet the consequences of your actions." He replied with cold and harsh tone. A tone that will bring mob-bosses to their knees let alone a little girl. "No plea.." End of flashback... "Ma'am I brought you your files and a cup of tea." Said Lia as she entered my room. I rolled down my sleeve and nodded. Brushing past the memories of my younger self.