Colours

 

 I look around. There are too many colours. Too many different shades and too many people to observe. How will I ever be able to paint a realistic picture. “A blank page. Now fill it with words, with millions of colours. Find yours and start painting.” 

I struggle to keep my hand still. I feel my heart beating faster. I close my eyes and wait for the colours to fill my imagination. I think about all the people I admire, I hate... I love... I can’t think of a specific colour that would describe each of them. Yellow... joyful? Gray...elegant? Red... passionate? Who are they? Who were they? Their actions, their names, their faces... those don’t matter. If I close my eyes, I don’t see them. I see a stroke of colour. On a great canvas, they are the strokes of colour I like the most. I’m not afraid of ruining the painting. I take risks. I say bad things. I laugh and cry. The painting becomes more and more intricate. But I can always see them. I can’t cover them, I can’t erase them. I just pick up the brush and start painting.