The top of the brush ran across his fingers,
the edges of the easel were chipped,
the once dull brown wood had turned into something like
a light shade of beige.
Minho stared blankly at the canvas, before him.
"Paint"
No one stood before him.
The walls around him were sealed in close.
But he heard the voice, and he obeyed.
He painted.
_______________________________
I might edit
This part later fjskdjkajee
YOU ARE READING
𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐢𝐚 ° 𝐥.𝐦
Fanfiction["These paintings are my story, for me to tell and for you to see] ↳In which he goes back through his paintings and revives the moments long gone.
