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You simply wandered through the Louvre, letting your mind wander as it pleased. You’re not sure how long you had walked before you found yourself in front of a door labeled as a special exhibition. Looking through the doorway and then around you, you notice that you were the only one in this area of the museum, everyone else more concerned with the more famous pieces housed in the famous museum. Once walking through the doorway of the exhibit you find yourself alone in a large room filled with beautiful artwork.
Slowly you walked by each of the abstract paintings, carefully looking at the colors, how the paint was spread across the canvases. The more you saw, the tighter your chest became and the more your eyes stung with unshed tears. You held your emotions back until you came to the final piece in the room.
The final piece seemed to unlock the gate that had been holding your emotions back for so long. Looking next to the painting at the little white card, you see the words “Black and Grey” written and with that the first tears began to fall.
You could do nothing but stare at the art and let your emotions flow free for the first time in months. Your sadness, your loneliness, the helplessness you felt. You saw all of those feelings reflected back in the depths of the canvas.
You were so overwhelmed with emotion you hadn’t noticed someone join you in the room. You didn’t notice until a deep voice spoke from over your right shoulder.
“What is it about this piece that moves you so much?”
You jump and quickly wipe your tears before turning around to face the owner of the voice. A man with kind eyes and honey skin was looking back at you. Having been drowning in your emotions you find that you aren’t able to form words quite yet to respond to him.
Noticing your embarrassment the man softly smiles down at you before taking a step forward next to you and turning towards the painting. Without turning towards you he asks his question again.
“What is it about this specific Rothko that moves you so much? In a room filled with his work, why this one?”
Realizing that he was genuinely curious about your feelings towards the artwork and not making fun of you for them, you sniffed and turned back around to stand next to the stranger. Both of you were now standing side by side looking at the canvas on the wall.
You both stood there for a few minutes in a strangely comfortable silence. You found yourself completely at ease standing next to this stranger. Maybe it was the way the silence was so comfortable or maybe it was the way you were desperate to unload your burdens, something you’ll never know, but you start to answer his question truthfully.
“I see myself in it.”
You saw him turn towards you from the corner of your eye. He said nothing, so you continued.
“It’s me. Both sides of me. I hadn’t quite realized how lonely and helpless I had been feeling until I saw this.”
You speak in a whisper and a tear rolls down your cheek to accompany your words. You moved your hand to wipe the tear from your face only for the man to do it himself with the pad of his thumb.
You looked up to see a soft smile and eyes swimming with understanding.
“It’s okay to feel these things. It’s okay to feel. This is what art does for us. It shows us what we feel, even if we ourselves don’t even know it yet.”
He smiled even wider and brushed another tear from your face and continued.
“It’s okay to cry too. I promise I won’t tell anyone, you can cry all you want.”
Hearing those words from someone, being told it was okay to feel, seemed like a life changing moment for you. Throwing all doubt out the window, you threw yourself into his arms and cried.
Strong arms wrapped themselves around you and you felt both of you begin to sway back and forth. A few minutes passed and you finally caught hold of your senses and realized that you were leaving tear stains over the chest of a man you had only just met.
“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry, you don’t even know me and I’ve left tear stains all over your chest!”
You pull back quickly and hope that your cheeks aren’t as red as you think they are. The man softly laughs, before putting his hand out in front of you.
“Hi. I’m Namjoon.”
You’re blushing even more now as you shyly take his hand and mumble your name to him. His smile widens, dimples out for show, as he interlaces your fingers together rather than dropping your hand.
“How about we go for a coffee? I’d love to hear more about what you thought of the exhibit.”
ONE YEAR LATER
“Hurry up!” You drag Namjoon through the Louvre.
He laughs behind you. “It’s not going to get up and run away.”
You don’t hear him. You don’t look back at him until you’re standing in front of the exhibit doors. It was finally back. Turning to smile up at Namjoon you pull him inside to your painting. The painting.
It's the Rothko painting back again, finally. You both stand together in front of “Black and Grey”, Namjoon’s arms now wrapped tightly around your shoulders.
You look over at him and notice he’s deep in thought.
“What are you thinking about?”
He turns to you and smiles. “When I fell in love with you.”
You tilt your head and question him.
“And why is that on your mind right now?”
“Because this is where it happened. In front of a Rothko painting with you crying in my arms.”
You start to tear up and turn into his chest quickly to hide them. He pulls you in close so your words come out muffled, but he understands you.
“You really loved me then?”
He lifts your face, holding both cheeks in his hands and leans down to give you a gentle kiss.
“It really was then,” he whispers, pulling back from the kiss.
You smiled at him and buried your face into his chest again.
“What can I say? It was Louvre at first sight!”