She stood and stared out the window. The room was
empty save for a light green couch, an easel and some paint cans.

One lone street light flickered on and off in the dark outside.
A ciggie hung from her full lips. She blew a ring of smoke into the air. Her
lungs filled with anticipation. She coughed, scratched her thigh and
sighed.

Restless in the midnight hour songs of unfulfilled fantasies could be
overheard from the apartment next door. Her only desire stood a few feet away. It was
without color and begged to be touched. She hesitated.

The couch called her name…

It beckoned for her to sink down into softness and
forget her longing. But she couldn’t. She picked up the brush… Dipped it
slowly into life.

Just as she was about to caress her canvas, the
street lamp blew out and the room grew pitch black.

She began to feel her way around forming shapes and building ideas from emptiness. The dark didn’t matter. It never did. It
never does.

Art lives in the slightest crack in the sidewalk. In
trash cans on empty desolate streets. In an apartment where the resident has lost
her job and can barely pay her rent or utilities.

Art lives in darkness and light, in you and me.

Art lives…

© 2010 – 2014, TamekaMullins. All rights reserved.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.