Paintbrush

Staring around the house with a paintbrush in my hand. I am not there to paint the walls, but instead to paint my life. I walk into the kitchen and wisp the brush over the table. White, and blue dishes appear. I wave the brush around my head and close my eyes. Delicious smells fill my nose and when I open my eyes I see the table full of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, freshly made rolls and grilled vegetables. The warmth of the food tingles my cheeks and nose and I see my brother point to my chair and tell me to come eat.

Around the couch I spread the paint and pillows with blankets appear. I sit with my mom and snuggle right in with a pile a books next to us. We read and we talk and we laugh and we sing and we sit and call each other our heart.

I take my brush to the front door and sweep it up and around. The oranges and reds become brighter and finally give way to an inviting yellow. I step out and see walk toward the future with my paint brush in my hand.

 

Still In Progress

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