*Lauren*
The bristles of my brush danced across the canvas, each stroke punctuated the heavy beats of my semi-broken heart. The hill, a lush vantage point above the sprawling resort, was a sequestered nook I claimed as my own—a sanctuary where the clamor of guests and the incessant hum of activity became distant whispers. I set up my easel with practiced ease, tubes of paint set up ready to be dispensed onto my palette.
The paint squeezed out slowly and exploded a bit. The color splattered on my white shirt, and I giggled. Painting wasn’t a hobby to have if you wanted to keep stain-free clothing. But I no longer cared about things like that. I’d finally found something I was passionate about.
