Painting Life

E l e v e n.

P.S. I am on fire!

<< Sometimes I just needed to visualize what I felt like and when I did, I painted something an eleven year old could never ever have >> 

Eleven | Visualizing The Heart. 

H a r i s: 

My paint brush moved smoothly against my canvas. I didn't really know what I was painting. But when I cut down to the last stroke, I realized what I had drawn resembled my brain, a jumbled mess of feelings.

My thoughts were scattered fragments. But the thing is, they weren't even complete. I was pretty sure some parts were missing but I couldn't really place what it was. 

I sighed, taking out another piece of paper and charcoal pencil. I drew again. It was my way of getting rid of my battling mind. 

As I drew, I wondered about Daniya and what her father had said. I wondered if she wanted to stop the sparking enmity between us. I wondered if she really could because it was like a fire that couldn't be put out. 

Was she really trying to call a truce - one that didn't include avoiding each other - when she handed me the paints and canvas? Or was it just an act of kindness where she took pity upon me for being a street boy? 

I didn't know. 

But the one thing I did know, from Daniya's first impression, was that she seemed incapable of sporting a kind bone in her skeleton. 

She was incredibly selfish, rude and dishonest. But then, why give me a present? And let alone the fact, that she gave me a present that I would never forget in my life. 

She opened the doors of more advanced drawing for me. She showed me a new concept of art. And I loved it. 

There was something about art - a pleasure - that couldn't be denied. It was like letting out a huge breathe, after swimming underwater for a fair amount of time. It was relief. It was dumping your load in the dust bin. 

We were the talkers and art was the listener. 

I didn't understand why some people hated it so much. To the extent, that I heard a guy say Art should be thrown in the dust bin. It's too ridiculous. 

It almost broke my heart to hear this. Was it really necessary? Didn't he realize that there were people out there who thought art was their only escape? Some people even needed art to live because they just couldn't handle the stress. 

What if art were thrown in the dust bin? What about them? What about me? 

I moved back from my paper and gazed at it. I had drawn a paint brush without the paint. 

I could hardly breathe and tears started to edge forward. The paint brush looked so empty. So hollow.

A little like Daniya's eyes when she showed me the message from Emma. 

Indifferent. 

Something was missing in her eyes. I wondered what it was. 

"Okay, guys," Remy said, laughing along with the others. "What do you wanna play?" 

For the thousandth time, I was amazed by the fact that Remy was smiling like there was no tomorrow even though his parents had left. They were hardly home and when they were, they went again.