They rolled the paint and saw the change immediate to eyes—romance hue real and true, wet in the fresh and new; low elation in her body that could not help but rise beginning beneath then holding in her heart and found outward passage through the eyes.
It was making of a Dream.
Gone was the darkness, cover and ending of a past no more, and begin to new-want hope.
As walls dried and they stood in stand, she felt his heart’s admire, fixed to her in mirth of the make and change of inner chamber, spirit sanctuary of their home.
For months, he listened to her describing of room as dreamed. Listening, he said little in response.
His labor was his answer. His labor was his love, quiet aid and humble effort toward her realization of the dream; and then, in its becoming, he received his own reward—her joy.
From walls, she tureen and found his smile; heart-happiness, like hers, telling outward from the eyes.
Through all his quiet listening and love foretold in labor, he broke his worded silence speaking those she used for dream’s describing.
Smiling, loving emanant and seeing of her spirit, he spoke, “The romance hue is you.”
She felt her blush and flush of heat and hue’s sudden showing stronger on her then.
He was in love, and that was enough—to see her in her joy.
He looked on the walls and their sudden difference in energy and spirit, and he understood why she wished the difference, her reason, hope, and need for change.
In romance hue’s spirit-effect touching too in him. He spoke, “I hope you find and write your dreams…and that I am privileged to live and know when you do.”
In joy, in mirth, in heart and sanctuary of their home, she kissed his lips in sense and live of first story’s write-begin.