Dimitri was a young artist, trying to make his way in the city of Minsk, chasing his dreams and an opportunity to join to the Arts Academy, but he found nothing but frustration, since he was rejected once and again since the day he arrived to the city.

He had no money, and he struggled to survive with the help of charities; from time to time, he tried to paint again, but the combination of a severe winter and his own weakness were factors hard to ignore; he didn't have the strength to stand on his own feel, or hold a pencil for several hours.

But what he really lamented was the woman she left behind, in the old hometown; Maria was her name.

How could he? She was everything a man could ask for: the most loving and caring woman he ever met. He had some feelings for her, and he dumped them all, just in order to chase a stupid dream. Her smile, the heat of her body, but more than anything, just her presence; the simple fact of not being there, that's what Dimitri missed the most.

He has spent the last couple of weeks in a hospital, in a section full with homeless people and vagrants; the only personal attending to that section were nuns or clerics, trying to hunt some souls before they passes away, and the only reason the doctors attend to that place was just to pronounce someone as officially death, and see if they had something of certain value, because since they have nobody, they thought no one would care if they took one thing or two.

It was the new years eve, and from her window, Dimitri saw all the people passing by, all the joy of the moment, and all the magic of the city lights, but he hadn't nothing to celebrate, and this date just remind him what he left behind, feeling with even more intensity the pain and the sadness. No reason to celebrate, so it wasn't strange that he slept earlier that night, but not even in the Morpheus country he could find some good rest; he saw to the distance a lovely feminine shape, wearing a white dress, in the middle of a field of yellow flowers, like the ones he saw when he was a little child, back in his old home.

-Maria…is that you? - Dimitri asked when he gave a closer look to that lady

-Of course dummie!- Maria answered as she got closer to Dimitri, to hug him with the tenderness that only a loved woman can express.

-Forgive me…just…forgive me…- Dimitri whispered to her ear, with tears flowing on his face

-Don't worry Dimi…I, I understand, and I really like your art…This was something to have to do…-

That lovely voice, that lovely tone of hers, a tone of forgiveness, made Dimitri felt a strange mix of emotions: he felt even guiltier, and yet, at the same time, he found some redemption and relief his heart needed so badly.

-Do you really think so? Don't you feel mad…or something?-

-I don't want to talk about that anymore Dimi: just forgive yourself-

After those words, Dimitri kissed her with all the passion he couldn't express in the years he was been away from her love. They were intoxicated by their feelings, and the time seemed to stop, with the world turning around their sensations.

They spent the rest of the day just lying there, over the flowers, with no other thoughts in mind or feelings in their hearts than a never ending joy, complete devotion, but specially, the deepest and sincerest love.

-Are you fine, Maria, I mean…Do you really?-

-Please, stop right there: it's not worthy, and besides: I always knew you wanted something else, and to an artist like you it was a natural step, and I really love your paintings-

-Thanks…but it seems that wasn't enough for the admission council of the Academy…-

-Don't worry about that! They surely are blind or something: your work is not only good or beautiful; it is almost…magical…-


-I can't really explain it, all I wish is to see you painting one last time…-

-My greatest wish, Maria, is make this place, this time, this perfect frame, last forever.-

Dimitri woke up that morning, feeling nothing but bitterness after realize that everything he saw was nothing but a dream, but this time, there was something different; there was no time to cry or to lament: he used all the strength and energy he had to reach his work materials, and once again, he started to paint.

It took several hours: he was exhausted, he was tired, but, in the end, he was happy to see his work done; a field of flowers, with a young woman wearing a white dress, Maria was her name…

He took one last look, he smiled, and then, his body collapsed. He didn't wake up again.

The doctors took his time to finally check the body of the young man: Dimitri Nureyev, 25 years old, was officially pronounced dead; he was buried in a communitarian place where all sign of dignity was lost, and his stuff were dumped away, with the exception of his paintings; one of the doctors took them to his home, thinking that they would be nice to decorate his house.

Some days later, there was a new mail delivery, and one of the letters was signed by the Ibrahimovic Family, to some young man named "Dimitri"

"…Dimitri, this is Live, Maria's father (…) I heard you have been passing some really harsh moments, and I send you some money, I know it's not too much, but I hope you could find it useful…

I don't know how to say this…Maria got sick a couple of days ago, and I mean really sick; all the doctors tried to cure her, but…she passed away…

I know what you felt about her, and let me tell you that she forgives you of everything, and one of the last things she said was that she loves you, and she will always do…"

-Dimitri? I guess he was that poor artist…- The doctor thought after reading that letter, out of a bizarre sense of curiosity

That night, the doctor returned to home, thinking a little too much about that young man.

-Dying alone…that's really sad…- He said to himself while he was seeing one of the frames he stole, the one with the woman in the field, noticing a little new detail he didn't noticed before -…weird…I don't remember that man in the painting…-

In the end, it seems that the greatest wish of Dimtri came true, and that his paintings were really magical…