It’s been a few hours. But still ,nothing hitting my imagination. Palettes and brushes are still waiting for me to blend them in colorful strokes and patterns.
I moved towards the window and took a sight of the cold mist. I decided to go out for a walk.
I started walking towards the north, where I found less folks and no hubbubs.
Frozen flowers , falling leaves, ‘ready to bloom’ buds, cool wind , crooning beats of birds ,everything started to fill my empty heart, even though they are my usual vistas. But still no voice of imagination to wake me up.
When I reached near a silent bridge, I decided to rest for a while. I looked around and I saw a gal on the other corner, waiting for someone. She looked like a 22 year old gal. She was nervous. She was holding a posy of white roses. “A bouquet of fresh, white roses is the ideal gift for a blooming romance.” I remembered the words of ‘Palomares’. So I guessed that she would be waiting for someone really special.
Seconds, minutes and finally hours have passed. Nervousness on her face turned into disappointment . She dropped the white roses there and walked away slowly. I can listen her heart weeping, even though she is a bit away from me.
After she disappeared, I went near her seat and noticed the tears on the rose petals. Those fresh flowers seemed really dull. I picked them up and walked towards my house.
I brewed a cup of coffee and went into my room. White canvas looked at me in hope. I placed the roses on the table near my palettes and brushes. I grabed the chair and seated in it and gazed at the canvas.
“I can see those hands of the girl, one holding the posy of white roses and the other stretching the hand towards someone in hope. Even though you witnessed a falling romance, you can turn it into a blooming romance, and it’s the magic, only an artist can perform.” – I took the brushes and followed my inner voice of imagination.
Signature: I love using ‘DEST1819’ as my pen name.
Written in response to #WDYS hosted by Sadje.