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I can’t deny the way it felt when we touched or kissed. My stomach is fluttering like a million caged butterflies just thinking about it. The feeling when we kissed had a strange kind of intensity. It makes me wonder what it will feel like when I find my mate. Hopefully, it is way better.
In an attempt to forget him, I force myself up off the bed and rummage through my dresser drawers until I find an old tank and shorts to paint in. As nice as it would be to lie in bed, it is no way to spend my night.
I start by placing a new canvas on my easel and mixing my paints until there’s a variety of bold pinks, blues, purples and yellows. My desire right now is to create something intense and emotional. Driven by the blood high, I take a deep breath and the brush makes its first stroke on the canvas in a thick yellow line.
Impressionism is, by far, my favorite style of art. I love the brush strokes and how they bring the painting together to make a whole scene. It has always been a wish of mine to have been alive when impressionism was at its peak.
Shaking off my musings, I refocus on my work. The song has changed and the melody washes over me. I begin to paint a scene with one stroke, and then another, until I have some semblance of an idea what I’m painting.
My creative side is always stronger during a blood high, so that’s when my painting is the best. Using a varying method of brush strokes, I’m rewarded with an amazing piece.
I’ve painted a little girl picking a daisy out of a never ending field of white daisies. Her face is so innocent. The sun is bright and the flowers are beautiful. Stepping back, I admire my work. Satisfied, I find an empty spot on my wall and hang it up amongst my other works of art.