When they decided to paint my house.
That awkward moment when smell of paint reminds you of the time when you used to have paint all over your clothes & hands, the palette and those brushes, when you used to deepen the shades by mixing them with your fingers and feeling the soft colour getting into you, when they paint your walls you remember your drawing board and that feeling of bringing to life one of your wildest dreams.
When they ask you if the colour suits your taste, you remember asking yourself how he would look in this colour.
I remember how I used to paint and hide my sketches, I remember that palette & that apron, I remember how unsatisfied I was when it didn't come out the way it was in my head, I remember the sigh of relief that i used to feel after completing that little piece of art, it was a feeling like a part of my soul was moulded into the sculptures which I have built with my own hands, like a child that I have given birth to, I remember so many things, those good old days.
That happiness has now gone, I haven’t felt it lately, the colours are stolen, the brushes lay broken, the palette demands some hope.
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