Brushstrokes Of The Heart: A Love In Healing

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Sofia

˚₊‧ა 🎨🖌️ ໒ ‧₊˚.

That night, the sound of my vibrator filled the room. I couldn't stop thinking about him. I haven't seen him since. The showcase is in a few days and I haven't even started on my entry. I'm having severe fucking artist's block. I stand before the giant canvas, my mind a blank slate. I'm supposed to unveil my masterpiece, but I'm still searching for inspiration.

I've tried everything - scrolling through art books, browsing galleries, even people-watching in the park. But every idea feels forced, every concept unoriginal. I'm beginning to doubt my abilities, my passion, my purpose.

As I stare at the canvas, my anxiety grows. What if I fail? What if I'm not good enough? The pressure mounts, and my mind goes blank.

But then, something shifts. I think about my own struggles, my own emotions, my own story. I realize that I've been looking for inspiration in all the wrong places.

I dip my brush in a rich shade of indigo, the color of my darkest nights. I stroke the canvas, bold and unapologetic, as I begin to shape the contours of my face. My eyes, like two shimmering hazel sapphires, gaze back at me, filled with a deep sadness.

I add touches of golden light, like the warmth of sunrise on my skin. My hair flows like a wild tangle of autumn leaves, vibrant and untamed. I paint my lips, a gentle curve of pink, a whispered promise of hope.

As I work, my emotions bleed onto the canvas. I add shades of crimson, like the flush of my cheeks when I'm anxious, and whispers of lavender, like the calm I find in stillness.

My brush dances across the canvas, weaving a tapestry of my soul. I am both the artist and the muse, creating a masterpiece that is me - imperfect, beautiful, and true.

With each stroke, I feel myself unraveling, like the threads of a tapestry. I am exposed, vulnerable, and free.

I step back, and my breath catches. Before me stands a reflection of my inner world - a kaleidoscope of colors, a symphony of emotions. I have created something breathtaking, something me. Letting out a squeal, I jump around and grab Milo, my hands covered in dried paint. I snuggle him and he lets out a monotoned meow. Turning Milo to face me, I pout my lip at him.

"I just created a masterpiece. Aren't you proud?"

Milo shoots me a look that says "Bitch, I wouldn't have a fuck to give even if one was given to me." Sighing, I put him down and he runs over to his bowl. I rest my hands on my hips, staring at my entry.

"Well, I'm proud."

I take a picture of my work and post it to my Instagram with the caption "Just got my groove back <3". Just as I'm about to put my phone away, my phone buzzes.

Lisa

Hey! I just saw that you posted some art. Is that your entry?

Me

Hey!! Yea, Just finished today. Like it?

Lisa

Like it? I love it. I can't wait for the showcase. Good work.

I squealed for the second time tonight and Milo meowed, basically telling me to shut up. Rude. I look at the painting one last time before sliding into bed and falling asleep.

˚₊‧ა 🎨🖌️ ໒ ‧₊˚.

It's the day of the showcase and I'm a bundle of nerves. I stand before my mirror, smoothing out my dress, a flowy black number with intricate silver embroidery. My curls are all over my head and I did light makeup for tonight. I spray my final touch, Diptyque's Joie de Vivre, a citrusy perfume on every inch of me. My heart races with excitement and nerves as I prepare for the biggest night of my life - the art showcase.