I think i'll stop trying to paint, put my brushes down and pack away my colours. Canvasses can remain white, they have no need of my embellishments. Paint can stay in tubes. The assorted brushes displayed like dried flowers splayed in their sturdy pot, have stopped dreaming of thick paint and swirling water.
It had its moment, when inspiration and colour were a heady mix, creativity poured and splashed onto surfaces, it couldn't be contained it had to flow. The pictures needed to be seen, the colours absorbed, it was a joy, a primal urge.
I have carried the memory like a crumpled photo of a long gone lover. Awaiting the day when that fiery desire would once again run through my veins and beg to be released onto that virgin page. Creativity unleashed on a white canvas, pictures and stories appearing in the paint in front of my smitten eyes.
That golden moment has never returned and I'm not waiting any more.
It's time to put down this torch I have been carrying, say my final goodbyes and mourn for that time when it was easy and paint and I were lovers.