Art is an antidote to despair.
The mercurial urge struck. Creativity doodles rising, he grabbed his paraphernalia. Expert, unmindful, fingers once again, found their masterstrokes.
Beneath the star-studded sky, in the mountain foothills, a lone cottage stood. A couple lovingly watched their child playing gleefully, in the garden.
Satisfied he drew back.
But oh! The window? It’s closed. And did he paint it blue?
Ironically, resembling his ex-girlfriend’s home, whom he’d abandoned, pregnant.
Now, he, divorced, childless; she, married, could never enter each other’s world.
Guilt, they say, nests deep inside. Art mirrors feelings. We only see what we want.
Photo by Steve Johnson from Pexels
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