So there I stood, feeling totally helpless, looking miserable and feeling ever worse with each passing moment. I started to say something to comfort Mr. Smith, when suddenly, he just fell into my arms. Instinctively, I put my arms around him and held him as tight as I could. Looking down, I noticed even Jabba was trying to console Mr. Smith. Torrents of tears were flowing down both our cheeks as we held each other. It felt so good to try calming his quivering body. I could feel emotions poring out of him with each breath he took. Many of my questions were answered without words in those few precious moments. We held each other for what seemed like a magical eternity. Gradualy Mr. Smith began to regain his composure. He was the first one to speak. He told me that the sudden site of his deceased lover had hit him like a ton of bricks. After the sudden death of his love, he had never allowed himself to face his grief. His cultural conditioning frowned on any show of emotions. It was undignified. So up until these last few moments, he had valiantly tried to keep his emotions bottled up inside. He had forced the memory of is love out of his mind. So at this totally unexpected portrait, the emptiness he'd felt inside came boiling to the surface in an uncontrollable flow of grief and sorrow. As we continued holding each other, more and more of his story came out between gasps and tears. I was crying again too, hearing the story of his love for his lost companion. They had shared a rare and beautiful relationship and had been blessed with a few years together. After his lover's untimely death, Mr. Smith had first gone into denial. He couldn't believe his lover was gone. But as he gradually began to face that fact, another emotion overpowered him. He had to get away from his former life and surroundings and all the reminders. He ran away from his family and friends to this island in the hopes of forgetting his sorrows and burying his grief. But the more he tried, the more they haunted him and drove him nearly insane. He found some solace in his daily walks up and down the beach in front of my house, never noticing me inside watching him from my front picture window. His despair and grief grew more pronounced with each passing day. The day we first met was the day he had decided to end it all. I thought to myself, 'fortunately for me, he didn't!' My unexpected offer of friendship had caught him completely off guard. At this point, he finally told me his name. Tristan Vanderwater. You know the rest of the story from there, other than Tristan comes from a very old european family. They were famous for their glassware from medieval times up until recently. Another one of their ventures was an association with an oil company called Shell. But for now, I am giving away too many details. Needless to say, Tristan and I had a lot to talk about after this emotion packed experience. He was finally able to open up to me and I was finally able to tell him my feelings toward him. He told me it was a most beautiful painting and he just had to have it, for I had captured the soul of his lover. I gave Tristan the painting with all my love.

So what next? For now, we remain good friends, but not lovers,.... yet. It is still too soon for Tristan to get over his former love. He asked me if I could wait for him. He will be staying on the island for another few weeks. Who knows what will happen in that time. I haven't lived very long, I'm only in my early twenties, but I have learned along the way to not get my hopes up too high. I still miss my grandfather very much, even after two years. I have never loved anyone like I now love Tristan. I will just have to try and survive until I find out if Tristan can love me back.