He splashes the paint on the white canvas, reds and yellows and blues.
Carving a beauty from nothing.
He doesn’t need to see her picture, she is alive in his memory, fresh as a bud.
Every careful stroke, every drop of paint brings back the curves and edges of her imperfect figure, which were perfect in his eyes.
The canvas evokes the memories of a time long forgotten, her face peeping out of it staring at a flower.
He never draws her gaze at himself, that would be too darn real, and he is just not ready yet.
Till then, he will keep on marring her beauty on the canvas, In hope that one day the colours will ease into his faded life once again.