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A tear falls, imprinting itself on the wood of th

A tear falls, imprinting itself on the wood of the floor. I close my eyes. I look at my old paintings, a symbol of an ancient fame, which seems to no longer belong to me. (Caption..) I am standing on the stool. The room is shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the dim light of a light bulb. Some of my paintings are posted on the walls. Prestigious, famous works that have enriched me and given me a name over time. I look at my hands. They are stained with paint, the same paint that colors my last canvas, placed in the center of the room, far from the others. It is not ready yet, something is missing, I think. On the floor, near the canvas, there are some brushes of diffe
A tear falls, imprinting itself on the wood of the floor. I close my eyes. I look at my old paintings, a symbol of an ancient fame, which seems to no longer belong to me. (Caption..) I am standing on the stool. The room is shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the dim light of a light bulb. Some of my paintings are posted on the walls. Prestigious, famous works that have enriched me and given me a name over time. I look at my hands. They are stained with paint, the same paint that colors my last canvas, placed in the center of the room, far from the others. It is not ready yet, something is missing, I think. On the floor, near the canvas, there are some brushes of diffe
shivansh7038

Shivansh

New Creator