#Chapter 34
Evelyn
My mother had a love for art. She loved colors and designs more than anything in the world. It was her one true passion, however, she left it behind to get a good job after my grandparents pressured her. But the talent didn't leave her body. It swam in her veins and no one could take it away from her.
Luckily she passed it down to me. I felt like we shared a connection that even the unknown world couldn't break. She wasn't alive, but she lived through me. And somehow that was enough.
When I was young, Mom made Michael and I paint our house with her. She said, /"An artist can paint on anything. They don't need a canvas to bleed their thoughts and ideas. They just need an outlet. And that can be anything./" While I thought she sounded absurd at that moment, years later I understood what she meant.
Art is a medium of expression. And it can be anywhere or in any way.
