Posted: May 11, 2012 in Uncategorized

The canvas stands bare and blank. White; temptingly irritating. She stares, as memories stir up emotions she’s tried to suppress, stirs up an unexplained urge of unleashing her feelings, into something else but words. Words expose too much. Words have failed her. Or, she has rather failed them. Her words ran silent, ran weak; lacking impact. At least to those it was meant to. Feelings, thoughts, and voices of her logic debating her heart build up. Pressure build up. They conflict. They battle so wild and aggressively… In silence.

A rush of cold air stretches her lungs out. Pressure escapes through her hands. She grabs the box she’s always kept close and splits it wide open. The smell of paint fills her with life, with hope, with space. It pierces her lungs, yet she breathes more of the diffusing smells into her. Her lungs stretch wider and wider as her hands slip underneath the scattered tubes of oil paints, dying her skin in colours. Brushes.  She pulls them out. She scatters them next to her as they arrange themselves randomly. She throws the box upside down. The greasy tubes of oil paints roll to place themselves amongst  her army of brushes. She slides her finger into a palette, grips it tightly, and squeezes the first tube she gets her hands on so hardly. The cap flies away, a dark paste flows on the wooden palette. Deep blue. Her favourite. Without even looking at the array of colours that gathered around her, she grabs a few more, and squeezes them even harder and harder with all the pressure growing in her, with all the memories piling up, with all the caged feelings now going wild within, and starts mixing them together into colours she’s making up. The colours are tempting in rage. Wild and bright.

She stares at the same blank canvas. White disgusts her. Makes her feel just as blank. Just as she’s always been. And she takes it all on that. The brushes slip through her fingers as she dips them into the thickening pastes of colours, smudging the white that lays before her.

Her mind blacks out. She can’t even see what she’s brushing her colours into. There’s nothing specific in mind to materialize. Nothing but the same thoughts that has been haunting her since forever. She remembers. The more she does the more her paints come into lines that barely make any sense. And she goes on and on; smudging not only the white cotton sheet in front of her but her skin, her clothes and the floor around her. And she doesn’t bother.

The smell has taken over the entire place by the time she’s come to an end. By the time she’s let her feelings graze wild on a field of battling colours. She’s let it all out. Still, sticking to the silence she’s promised to abide to. Her feelings escaped her. The pressure eased the ache inside. She breathes out the same smell that has filled up her collapsing lungs. She sighs as she restores her senses back. She stares. Her eyes burn. They grow wider trying to enclose every edge of the flying colours. Her heart slows down in rest. Her lips throw a blank smile.

She has materialized the mess within.


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