Sitting in the cool, wet grass I
watched the birds fly. Streaming, soaring. I painted a picture of it with
extreme emeralds and striking sapphires. The canvas seemed to imitate the
shapes and texture of what I saw. The clouds moved in the painting and brought
light. I took it home and hung it above the fierce, warm glow of the fireplace.
Each day, I saw it as I passed through the lounge, I could be transferred back.
Soon that magic had left, the painting was gone and it was all just a memory
fading more and more every day.
Analysis:
I wrote this
because I wanted to explore a sad but beautiful image of a man who paints and
lives through what he sees. In this piece, the man can visually be transported
back to a time in his life where he was happy. He loses the painting and can no
longer feel that ‘magic,’ and his memory of this happy, gorgeous time is just
that, a memory. That fades and loses more image every single day. It is quite
sad, because we are all memories or stories in the end, just as long as we make
it a good one. The man reflects happily on his joyful youth and is caught in a
little trance of nostalgia and sadness.
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