A Prose With No Direction

an attempt to write

"he colored my canvas"

by clara

She was a canvas, white and untouched as the one at the store. 

She sat at the end of aisle five, hidden in the back, canvases covering her. 

One canvas, two canvas, three canvas, four, many of the many canvases before her being taken by an artist readying to taint it with colors that ranged from purple to pink to black and many more. 

Finally, it was her time to shine.

She who sat at the end of aisle five, hidden behind the many canvases before her, was now sitting in the front row of the theater, ready for an artist to take her and flee. 

For days and nights, she awaited for her fated artist.

For years, she had been hidden, wishing for the day when someone would take her by the sides and twirl her in the sky before setting her down on easel to taint her with colors. 

Bright colors. Colors that will pretty up her face, make her pure white go to waste, but at least she'll have more of personality...

At least she'll have a personality.

Unlike the blank, whitewashed canvases at the store. 

One day a man in a green turtleneck passed her. He had blonde hair, with a beautiful blue stare, that often seemed to be blank and distant. 

She knew he had an overcrowded mind, an imaginative mind, filled with thoughts that could never be put down in words.

She knew he had a troubling mind, a paranoid mind, filled with demons that could never be exorcised. 

She knew she wanted him.

She knew she needed him.

She knew that he was the one who'd paint her a smile.

And with one glance, one harmless glance, between a blue-eyed male and a blank canvas, magic happened. 

Beautiful. 

Wonderful. 

Magic happened. 

He took her home, set her on an easel. 

Pulled out a palette filled with colors she'd never, ever seen. 

And with one long stroke, he painted her for the first time, dirtying her purity, committing a crime, and for the first time ever, the canvas girl realized... 

Being painted with colors means losing yourself in that time.

And so her wish, her lifelong wish, was carried out by that blue-eyed man from the store.

He did it.

He really did it.

He painted the canvas girl and marked her forevermore.

She was a canvas, white and untouched sitting at the back of the store.

She was a canvas with dreams and aspirations of being something more.

And in that day, she was blessed.

Blessed by someone who took pleasure in her undressed. 

And since that day, she was a mess.

Since her canvas that was once white and pure was tainted permanently grey. 

She was a canvas, white and untouched as the ones sold at the store.

She sat in aisle five, behind the other guys, waiting for an artist who'd paint her a smile. 

But now all that remains, is an empty picture of grey; the canvas that girl once was, now sitting and rotting in some old guy's basement. 

She was a canvas.

A canvas with potential that ended up ruined and disgraced.