Do you remember when we used to paint together?
I kind of do, although most of our time together seems to slip away as the days pass.
You used to catch the bus to me, I’d be waiting at the stop and we’d walk to mine together, discussing our wishes and our woes, our fantasies and failures.
Our steps synchronised, we promised to conquer the world together.
I’d cut up the strawberries, you’d set up the sheets and then we painted. Painted poorly, but painted nonetheless, mixing up colours and our ideas, criticising each stroke and each other, we’d paint!
I don’t remember what it is we talked about but it sure had depth and I forgot what on earth we laughed about by I remember the feeling of not being able to breathe and my sides splitting.
You were painting about how different we were, you one with the night and I one with the day. I was painting about a hypothetical road trip wherein we watched the dusty sunset on a generic cliff, but I too didn’t get to finish it. Funnily enough, the only thing missing from it was us two, everything else was complete.
But then you did what you did and you abandoned your beloved masterpiece. I’ve been taking unconsented custody of your canvas and it’s been collecting dust. It’s unresolved and I have no idea what to do with it.
Do I throw it? No, that’s cowardly. To run away from pain takes away the opportunity to face it.
Do I just leave it there? No, the amount of space it’s wasting is borderline obnoxious.
I asked a friend what I should do and she said to paint over it since there’s no point wasting a good canvas. I agree.
I’m not going to abandon this half-empty piece as you did. I’m going to transform it. I won’t paint over it completely, of course, I’ll leave a little edge uncovered because to erase history completely is to be a cowardly dictator (according to Orwell and me, at least). I don’t know what I’m going to paint yet, but I will paint!
I will create over what you have destructed.
The canvas never needed you anyway. It was perfect on its own.
LMAO