The mahogany door click open before Laura slowly steps inside -with her silky nightgown sweeping the floor- and stands still infront of a blank canvas. As if on cue, the spacious room is swallowed by Laura’s air of grief, respecting her need to let everything out. She close her eyes and slowly trails her finger on the smooth surface of the canvas; feeling the emptiness at the tip of her nails and the hollowness inside her body. A sense of remorse washes over her as tears start to trickle down her jaw and mix with the paint in the palette.

It didn’t get out of her mind at all. That image is still in her head; etched inside her like a weave.

Laura picks up the brush and presses her eyes firmer. That image…

“No!” She instantly let go and rake her hair. “Don’t go. Don’t.” The words slip off her lips repetitively; like a mantra. Quickly, she dips her finger in the paint –pearl beige- and starts to dance on the vibrant whiteness of the canvas.

She is graceful.

Her hand puts on pressure and loosens up to give the shading effect on her painting. The change as the colors differ and drying. Laura bits her lower lips as she focus on the subject of her painting.  The moonlight filtered by the wall-to-floor window softly brush Laura’s diligent figure. She can’t hold on any longer. The sour taste in her chest has been ignored the whole day as she received those insincere condolences. Now, i