Read Online Missing Rose (9781101603864) by Serdar Ozkan - Free Book Online Page A

too, once. But I must admit, inspiration never visited me. I guess that’s the difference between a painter and someone who just paints.”
    â€œI don’t think inspiration is essential.”
    â€œYou don’t?”
    â€œFor me, inspiration reveals itself in the time it takes to finish a painting rather than in the painting itself. Some paintings take only a couple of days; others I can’t call finished even after working on them for a few years. And there’s not that much difference among my paintings, either.”
    â€œOh, right, I was going to ask you about that—why do you always paint the sea? Don’t you ever paint anything else?”
    â€œNo, not lately. I went through a stormy time a few years ago and, since then, I’ve just painted the sea.”
    â€œIs it all right if I ask what kind of a storm?”
    â€œIt was strange. It all began with the breakup of a relationship. One day I would feel like chasing away anyone who came near me with a baseball bat; the next day, I couldn’t do without people. In the end, I decided to pour out my ‘waves’ onto the canvas as seascapes, hoping that they’d help me understand myself.”
    â€œWhat about the seagull?”
    â€œLong story. I doubt you’d want to hear it.”
    â€œTry me.”
    â€œDo I really have to tell it?”
    She looked at him insistently, so he began to tell her about the day he’d witnessed the flight of the two seagulls. He didn’t go into detail, but Diana could work out the significance of the lone seagull in his paintings.
    Placing their coffee carefully on the table, the waiter inquired if that would be all. When they nodded their heads, he bowed and withdrew.
    â€œYou’re still painting the sea; hasn’t your storm come to an end yet?”
    â€œWell, it has, but in the meantime I’ve realized something: I’ve realized that I always like painting different things.”
    Diana looked confused. Just a few minutes ago he’d said he only painted seascapes, but now he was saying that he liked painting different things.
    â€œAs I went on painting scenes of the same shoreline one after the other, I realized the thing I thought changed the least actually changed the most: the sea.”
    â€œLike you?” Diana asked, remembering the connection Mathias had made earlier between himself and the sea.
    â€œWell, like everyone. We all think we see the same person when we look in the mirror each morning. Our friends think they see the same person even when we meet after several years.”
    â€œTrue,” Diana said. “And even if they do notice a change, it’s usually about things like your weight or hairstyle . . .”
    â€œExactly. They never consider that the person in front of them might have become somebody new . . . I personally think we can change in even a few days.”
    Diana lowered her gaze as she thought of how much everything recently had forced her to change.
    Mathias gently touched her arm. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
    â€œNo, no. What you said reminded me of something, that’s all.”
    Leaning forward on his elbows, Mathias drew closer to her. “Would you like to talk about it?”
    â€œWell . . . Maybe later.”
    The waiter reappeared to ask if there was anything else they would like. Diana turned to Mathias. “What would you like? I’m going to have the chocolate cookies.”
    â€œYes, that sounds great—I’ll have chocolate cookies, too.”
    â€œI’m so sorry,” the waiter said. “There are only two chocolate cookies left, and that only makes one serving. How about I divide the chocolate cookies between you and add a vanilla one each to complete the portion?”
    Reluctantly, they both agreed.

18
    T HE COOKIES STILL hadn’t arrived, but both of them had been too deep in conversation to