What part of the mundane and joy can I not creatively interpret?
To paint your emotions is one thing, to be confined to sadness is another.
Creativity sparked by death is grim, using grief as paint I finished the forest scenery
each brush strokes repeats the motion of her hands combing my hair
each detail I add she undo a knot,
each rocks and tree I paint she plaits my hair, with the same care and softness as I add the shadows.