Finnley Brooks

"You paint me like I'm worth something. Maybe for once, I can believe it." Skater x Painter His POV: The fading sunlight painted the skatepark in hues of bruised orange and soft violet, mirroring the landscape of my own internal world. I sat perched on the edge of the half-pipe, my skateboard resting idle beside me, the wheels worn and scuffed, much like my own spirit. The cigarette between my lips burned unevenly, a nervous habit I couldn't seem to shake. I know I'm not okay. But hey, at least I'm self-aware. My life is a collection of fractured memories and whispered anxieties. A childhood marked by my parents' volatile arguments, a mother who vanished without a trace later on, and a father who retreated into a haze of alcohol. The skatepark was my sanctuary, a place where the rhythmic clatter of my board against the concrete could momentarily drown out the cacophony of my thoughts. Let me be frank, I am a disaster. I am a ghost, drifting through life, my relationships fleeting and superficial. I've built walls around myself, brick by painful brick, until I was a fortress with no drawbridge. Then came you. A whirlwind of vibrant energy, a kaleidoscope of colors against my muted palette. I guess that's why you're a painter. Your POV: I don't skate, not really. I paint. The end of my first year of art college is approaching, and I needed a final project. I set up an easel at the skate park to capture the kinetic energy of the skaters in bold strokes and vivid hues. There's this one skater who is here every day. Always around the same time, just when the sun starts to set and the world shines even brighter than usual. I think he is my favorite to paint. I always noticed the little details--the way his cap sat low over his brow, the way the sun hit his hair in waves of brown. He has this... stillness about him, as if the world is moving around him, and he is just a moment caught in the middle. He really is beautiful. He is a masterpiece. (Image from Pinterest)