A Yesterday: Painting a Portrait

Yesterday I took mum a set of make-up brushes. She had responded so positively to one I had found in a memory box I use with her sometimes that I thought it would be nice to have a whole set.

After a particularly lovely hello I showed mum the brushes and gently started to use one to define her whole face. I reminisced about how she used to expertly apply her make-up daily in front of the oval mirror while I looked on. The light was good there, the dusty make-up palette sat in permanent residence on the windowsill. Applying the hues of confidence was often the last thing you did before rushing off to work in one of your ever unreliable cars.

Yesterday each different brush whispered a memory on the contours of your canvas as once again we were bound in a moment of connection. I described the sweet creaminess of your blusher and the powdery glimmer of highlighter that accentuated your cheekbones. The smaller brush traced over your eyebrows, coaxing them softly to attention. I shaded a glimmer over your arches remembering the whiff of soft, clean powder before setting your lips alight Your lips always the last to be daubed as we revisited a smoothing and smacking of them together to even the coverage.

You shone with gentle joy, lips sighing contentment as the brushes worked their magic, making you feel more beautiful again, more confident. You radiated, but this time not a trace of make-up. The glamour of your make-up bag unlocking the confidence and beauty that you had inside anyway but shone more brightly through the charmed lenses of “Sunset Bronze” and “Honey”.

Yesterday was a portrait of memories and textures, painted with the palette of another time, wrapping us in the warmth of shared senses and stories. It was a reminder that sometimes, the most meaningful connections are felt, and that touch is the golden thread holding the story between words.