I seem to have lost myself and all interest I seemed to have carried.

Leaving me a plain white canvas which people seem to whisk past in a blur of halcyon beauty. As I am hung on the wall I can do nothing but watch as the people around me fall in love, and move along towards the sun. Like Noah’s Ark. Two by two.

And I reach and reel, pulling at every silver thread entwined in the hearts of everyone I can, but I retreat unable to feel what the world seems to have. 

I want the colour of life. The shades and light. Shadows and purity of every sight in which I can submerge and lie. I want blues and pinks and silvers and golds. The simplicity of Jo Baer with the depth of Paul Cézanne, the faces and regality. Colour my heart. Colour my mind. Colour every aspect of my life.

I want to go into a shop and see perched on the shelf, a shot for every feel. 6 to a pack for a frivolous life… a shot for every ordeal. 

A shot to make me beautiful. A shot to make me sweet. A shot to make them love me and sweep me off my feet. A shot to instill intrigue and a shot for a knowledgeable mind. A shot to destroy my memory and everything I can find.

Each shot will fill my canvas with a rainbow wafture of whirls, until at last I’m a masterpiece paralleled with diamonds and pearls. And everyone will stop. They’ll stare. At the beauty that they’ve missed.

For once I was a blank canvas, my heart an abyss.