Khroizein

prologue

No matter how many colors this world have,
I can't seem to see them,
I can't seem to find my way back,
I can't seem to appreciate life,
I don't know why
But,
The only thing I know is that,
All that's left in my world is black and white.

Yet here I am, a painter. My world may be black and white but I can still color the paintings with beautiful bright paints, and every emotion is it's life that gives birth to stories adorned with hardships and determination, a color that's missing in my life, a color that may also serve as my light.

The blank paper sure is simple, but even the simplest things hold deep meanings, and with the help of the brush and ink, it gives another meaning to it, a meaning that is also a story, a story that the artist wants to convey.

I don't know why, but everytime I paint, it always conveys sorrow and the feeling of being lost. I'll just sway my brush and a piece will materialize. Like magic, but with no sparks and wands to use. Just a stroke of imagination.

A life like a broken recorder, it keeps repeating itself. Never ending scenarios which are all the same. And I'm getting tired of it.

When will I find the right way of living in this world full of miserable lives?