The Painter

It was early and she was lost to the blank page before her. Her muse was slow and apathetic. She needed something to jog her creativity. Dabbling, she would roll her brush across the canvass searching for an inspirational escape. Her mind wandered coming to rest upon him. So typical she thought to herself. Yet the universe of color that exploded in her mind at just the simple thought of his smile was too hard to resist. He was her air. The oxygen needed for her creativity to breathe. Damn him for even existing in the first place.

Blank, Roll, Slow, Early, Jog

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