Completed. Poetry. Short story.
Amber was one of the best fine artists in town. Blessed with intelligence, she knew how to make the best use of her talent. Everybody loved her, her and her paintings.
When she was so perfect with her work, praises di...
I understood what it meant to be alone, Be overlooked, be mercilessly unknown; I understood what it meant to be depressed, Be a failure and rather repressed;
I had no idea what went wrong, I was supposed to be fervently strong; I hated that isolation, Which marked the feat of my ruination;
I knew I'd lost it all, Never had I ever felt so small; So then I could just hope, with all my might, That my future would hold some light.
:::
We sit in front of a canvas all white, Seeing beyond our eyes' sight; We nod with a grin, And our friendship does begin;
Our brushes and imaginations run free, My insecurities and jealousy finally flee; We laugh and giggle and cackle and smile, This continues for more than a while;
At last when we stare back at our masterpiece, We stay mesmerized and at peace, We're enchanted by it, and we'll always remember, The self-portrait of Scarlet and Amber!
