"There's none so blind as those who will not listen."

-Neil Gaiman

When I got home all I wanted to do was lay in bed and never get up. School had a way of draining any energy and happiness from my soul and right now I am way too drained to do anything else.

So I did just that, I went upstairs and went to my room. And, just laid there. I tried to clear my mind so I could try and get a quick nap in before dinner but couldn't.

A special girl with long brown hair was clouding my mind; thoughts of her haunting me.

I wonder what she is doing right this moment... Is she at home? Is she laying in bed? Is she thinking of me? No, probably not.

After this morning, I didn't see her again for the rest of the day and I felt an ache in my chest every time I realized I missed my chance to talk to her again.

She's different and I don't just mean because she is blind. She's...I don't really know. There is just something about her that I can't escape.

I sat up on my bed and looked out my window to see it was now dark outside. How long did I sit here thinking of Emma? I'm not sure.

If I can't sleep I should do something, I'll paint. I thought as I got up and walked over to my painting easel. I put a new canvas on my easel and opened my paint.

As I stood looking at my blank canvas with paint in my hands I realized that for once in my life, I didn't know what I wanted to paint.

I tried to come up with an idea of something to paint but couldn't. I couldn't think about anything other than her.

My mind is being consumed with thoughts of a sightless girl that I've only ever spoken to once, great. This is crazy and definitely ridiculous.

But the harder I tried to think of something, anything, to paint the more the image of Emma's face popped into my mind.

I sighed as I got a cigarette from the pack I keep hidden in my room and lite up taking a long drag trying to calm myself down.

The smoke burned my lungs as I breathed out. The smoke filled my room with a distasteful odor, even so, I took another long drag.

I welcomed the ache in my lungs as I began to calm down. But, I still didn't know what to paint.

"Danny?" My mom called knocking on the door to my room lightly. I didn't even hear her come home.

My eyes widened at the sound of her voice as I put out my cigarette and opened my room window as I began to fan. "Don't worry I'm dressed and so is the girl," I called over jokingly as the smell of smoke began to leave the room.

With that said she opened my door and walked into my room "Oh haha, very funny." She laughed sarcastically rolling her matching brown eyes.

Now the real question is, what does she want. This is either about my not so perfect grades in school or she bought me new art supplies. She tended to do that every once in a while. I could be home doing anything, except homework, and she would come home from work telling me about some amazing sale on paint or brushes or canvas that she couldn't possibly pass up. I appreciated it though, it was thoughtful of her.

It's more than my deadbeat no-show father ever did for me.

I walked back to my canvas and glance over my shoulder towards her, waiting for her to tell me why she had come in, in the first place. Not that I didn't like it when she came in. She's my mom I love her. She's all I got. But, before she came in I was enjoying destroying my lungs.

My mom pushed some of her short greying blonde hair behind her ear before saying "I just wanted to ask how you were doing, haven't seen you all week." Way to make me feel bad, mom.

"I'm okay," I said shrugging. "Just standing here with...painter's block," I said unsurely, I'm not very sure if painter's block is a thing. Maybe I would know if I ever did more homework, Nah.

Mom frowned showing her distaste "Well shit, what's the problem?" She finally replied. Although my mom doesn't look it with her small frame and big eyes, she has never cared about swearing and does it often. She is probably where I get my dirty mouth from.

Still, It was refreshing compared to Levi's parents. His parents were so fucking uptight about everything. Which explains why they hate me with my free tongue and love of pot. They think I corrupted their innocent little boy as if Levi was ever innocent.

"Yeah, it's just that I'm thinking too much. Yet, I can't think about this." I said answering her question.

Mom sat on the corner of my bed before asking "What are you thinking about?" I didn't know how to answer so instead I replied with "Everything and nothing. My train of thought crashed."

She smiled softly as me "well how bad is the crash this time?" I sighed before answering "My inspiration might die on the way to the hospital." I love that she takes part in my metaphors, only she really gets me.

Literally, everyone else looks at me like I'm a fucking idiot or that I've just sprouted wings from my head.

She nodded her head. I looked away from her and looked around my room with little interest. Nothing seemed interesting enough to capture forever in art.

"What have you been thinking about that's distracting you?" My mom asked curiously.

Easy, Emma. But, there is no way in hell I'm saying that out loud to my mother of all people. It's embarrassing enough that I know my thoughts have been captured by Emma, no one else needs to know. Heck, If I tell my mom right now I might as well publish it in the newspaper or better yet advertise it on television; more people watch television than reading anyway.

Well except for Emma because it's pointless watching TV. Then again, I thought the same thing about her reading before I saw her do it. Here I am once again, back to thinking about her. It's driving me mad!

I don't really think my mom would tell on purpose but I'm sure she'd call up Brenda, Devon's mom, and tell her all about how her son is thinking about a girl; a blind one at that.

It's not the fact that she's blind that I don't want my mom to know it's just if I tell my mom it makes my.... interest in Emma real.

"school." I quickly answered. It's not really a lie, Emma does go to my school. It's not really the truth, but that's not the point.

She looked at me like I had suddenly sprouted wings from my head. I should have come up with a more believable half-truth. Instead of calling out my lie she ran with it.

"Alright, then paint your school?" She said unsurely. As she still looked at me like there was no way I was the son that popped out of her uterus.

That's a great idea. I should just paint my school, I mean Emma. I could do that. I grin so widely my cheeks started hurting. I picked up the brown and unscrewed the lid that had chipped paint smudges on it.

"My little Einstein." My mother said proudly, how proud she was dripping through her words. Her eyes swept over every painting I had hanging up on my walls examining each of them as she walked around.

"Einstein was a scientist, mom. I'm way more of a Picasso, the famous artist." I explained correcting her. She only laughed rolling her eyes, which seemed to be her response to everything.

My mother then got up and headed back towards the door before saying "If you need anything, I'll be out in the living room." "Okay" I replied while dipping a freshly clean paintbrush into a bloat of paint.

She walked away from the door before gesturing me to bend down, as I bent she came forward and kissed the top of my unruly blond curls. I smiled, as she left me alone in silence to paint and closing the door behind her.

With her gone once again I began thinking about Emma it seems so obvious that she'd be my subject. Better yet I don't even need her to model for me, I'm pretty good at memorizing faces especially one like Emma's. Girls like Emma are hard to forget and not because they are blind but because they are special.

I start out slowly painting each long strand of her delicate hair. A lot of artists start with outlining their image but I like working backward from fine detail to the bigger picture, because you know I'm a rebel.

I run the small brush carefully over the canvas, again and again, mixing colors trying to capture the correct shade that matched the brown hairs that framed her face.

It's too dark to be hers. I took out a lighter brown out of my box of paints adding that to my artwork, but now it was far too light.

I painted and repainted trying to capture Emma in a single picture.

I end up spending nearly two hours on it. By the time I stopped only about a quarter of her hair was done. This is much harder than I thought it would be.

After giving up on the picture for now and skipping dinner I finally felt beyond tired enough to sleep. So I got back in bed and drifted off to sleep while thinking about Emma.