With each stroke of his brush, he painted a world, a world filled with beautiful colours, shades of reds and greens and whites spilt all over the canvas taking the form of love, of happiness, of life.
With each stroke of his brush, he painted a world he longed for. What does it take to be hopelessly in love like the lovers in his portrait, kissing in the rain, coloured in greys and reds, their love burning? What does it take to forever stay by his side like the greying old couple he painted, looking out at the pond in shades of yellows and blues, their happiness shining?
With each stroke of his brush, he wished that the paint would leak into his world, changing the black and white to the bright blues and yellows and pinks and reds. He hoped that the colours would cover him, his scars and his mistakes, making him stunning and lovely like the beauties in his paintings. He longed to live in a world where all it took was a single stroke of his brush to build the perfect life.
Little did he know that he missed the sky changing colours from reds to blues to blacks with each stroke of his brush as the days passed. He missed how the seasons brought in the beautiful shades of greens and yellows and blues and whites.
With each stroke of his brush, little did he know the colours he longed for passed by each and every day while he remained in his blackened corner living in his painted canvas.