Gifted Inspiration

These brushes are not mine.

But they inspire me.

All my life I thought I would paint.

And I did.

Then I stopped.

I never picked them up again.

They kill me.

These brushes.

The paint stuck in each hair.

The strokes.

The stories they have told.

The beauty that they bare.

Their honesty.

So raw.

Whispering in my ear.

Challenging me.

Begging.

Be brave.

To pick up my old friend again.