It doesn't exist in his head, while his fingers are scratching at color and paper and the smell of paint is spreading and everything that was nothing is now something. It doesn't exist when she's singing to him as he paints the picture of their present. No future, no past, time does not exist. All that there is, is now, a moment that is not counted by minutes, hours, or days.

Her broken tune continues as he concentrates on the smallest dot of paint, red that doesn't seem to fit with the rest of the colors. She's lying against the wall, her legs flat against the ground and straight across in front of her in this musty old room with the sunlight streaming in...something that reminds her of music videos that try to portray the romantic view of an artist. But it's all a lie. This room is not appealing, despite the light, the paint, the man standing before her, and her songs that no one ever cares to hear. She's just going along with it, pretending that she is the girl in the music video who will someday be heard and loved.

But the man before her, who really is a boy, he believes. He's pulled her into his daydreams, where he's certain his paintings are a world wonder. Even if no one notices now, they will when he dies, his art coloring the world. But that is not the reality. It was unfortunate--no clocks, no bells, no parents telling them to stop wasting their lives away.

Despite her doubts and his delusions, they still had love for each other in this old, musty room with the sunlight streaming in and offering them with a lingering warmth. The past was but ashes. The future was yet to appear on his nearly blank canvas. Their present was forever.