Raindrops!
Raindrops!
The sound of the cars passing is very distinct, almost to the point that it is annoying.
It is a quiet environment though, one that everyone would kill to have.
There is the sound of curtains being drawn, some clattering sound in the kitchen, and a buzzing sound of the blender but her mind has eerie silence.
Small demons probably dancing to the song of her self-doubt, while the angels trying to play the harp of confidence.
Definitely, the harp isn’t her cup of coffee, she is a whiskey person. (Sinister smile)
Her mind had a tendency to maundering to places it was not supposed to be. But that is the beauty of her creativity. Often though, it plays tricks on her. She paints the wrong art at the wrong time. She doesn’t believe in the slogan of the right piece of art at the wrong time ,,, Nah that is one mediocre slogan.
She rolled the paintbrush in her hand, this one she did not know how it landed on her. Probably a friend gifted it to her. Every brush has its own special stroke and every brush left her with a special piece of art.
This was a tender brush yet it had rough bristles that left the canvas in a dilemma (only if canvases would talk). Very kinky bristles that sometimes she would stop painting and start playing with the bristles. Very rough on her tender hands but she loved the tingling effect.
The shaft of the brush though was long, thick, and dark. Perfect size for strokes. And brought out the best arts. This shaft would definitely make her get addicted to painting. She slowly stroked the last strokes on her canvas and the beautiful art it was. The strokes would leave any normal person perturbed but only a person who understands art would read their depths.
To be continued…
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