Posted in Short reads

Untilted

I want to make art…
I hold on to my pencil and wait for an idea to hit me with best shot. But I get nothing, not whisper.
Suddenly it feels as though my soul has left me and chosen to wonder off somewhere because it has had just about enough of me.
She probably might be in this pencil. That could be the reason why I can’t think of anything to create, she doesn’t want to escape.
I can’t hold it anymore, so I scribble up as many lines as I can in an effort to get her back.

Author:

A lover of art πŸ’œπŸ’œ

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