Pluviophile

[17] - Canvas

[17] – Canvas

Gripping the small paintbrush

The boy brushed black streaks across

The once blank canvas.

Black paint bled upon

The white

And it contrasted effectively.

Sweat dripped down

The boy’s forehead

As he seemed to have forgotten

That the girl stood behind him

Watching him, studying him.

He took another breath from

His cigarette

Which was burning faster

Than the fire you saw in his eyes.

He had something he wanted to get out

Which words obviously couldn’t do.

It wasn’t ‘violent’ to be exact.

No rage, no anger.

There was just

Sadness.

Emptiness.

And just as the paint had depicted

Darkness.

“What are you painting?”

The girl didn’t have to ask.

The boy continued on his masterpiece.

“I don’t know.

I’m expressing.”